Chapter Twenty: Sur'Kesh
"If the officers are leading from the front, watch out for an attack from the rear."
- UNSC Marine Corps Handbook (Unofficial)
Huerta Memorial Hospital
Citadel, Widow System
Shepard followed a familiar labcoat to a quiet out of the way corner of the hospital floor, the doors to the busy ward sliding shut and barring the rest of the buzz. Huerta Memorial was packed to the figurative brim with patients, trying to stem the tide of the thousands of soldiers and civilians that had been wounded in the Cerberus attack. Beds and patients lined nearly every available space and dozens of nurses and doctors flitted to and from caring for them.
Amongst the skin-tight, shiny labcoats of the Human, Asari, Salrian and Turian medical staff he could make out the white-and-blue striped split labcoats and scrubs of UNSC doctors and nurses, as well as the dark gun-metal grey armor of a few UNSC Corpsmen. A quartet of regular UNSC Marines were posted by the main entryway, wary eyes surveying the activity while trying their best to remain out of the way.
"So Commander," said Chakwas, tearing Shepard from his observations, "You wished to speak with me?"
"Yes. I want you back on Normandy."
Chakwas chuckled lightly, a small smile on her thin lips. "You always did get right to the point Shepard."
"So? What do you say?" Liara had told him that Chawkwas had been at the hospital when she and Kaidan had gone to help shore up the defenses. He immediately knew that she would be an invaluable asset to his team if she was back on the Normandy.
"Now Commander, not so fast." The Doctor's smile grew into a wide grin, "You're going to have to sweet talk me this time."
"Sweet talk? What?" asked Shepard, feigning confusion.
"I'd have to say that my life is quite enjoyable now. In fact, I could think of several reasons why life on the Normandy would be worse than what I have currently."
"Oh yeah? Well shoot," Shepard challenged.
"For starters, I'll have next to no time off."
"Yeah, there will likely always be something that needs doing."
"I would have to start sharing a bed again."
"But it will always be a warm one, benefits of hotbunking."
"The food is normally quite bland."
"Our military rations are cooked to perfection, thank you."
"The work is dangerous."
"That just means additional combat zone pay."
"Please. Even with that the money wouldn't be nearly as good. My wages in the private sector are almost triple what they were when I was serving in the Alliance," said Chakwas.
"True," conceded Shepard. His own pay was only a measly 80,000 credits a year, a paltry sum compared to what he earned monthly now from the royalties gained off of mining data he sold during his Cerberus planet-probing phase.
"The company is rough, strange aliens and tough soldiers," continued the Doctor.
"But we have piercing eyes and sensitive souls."
They stared at each other for several seconds before Chakwas crossed her arms over her chest and stated, "I want a promotion."
"Done," said Shepard, matching her previous grin with one of his own. "Welcome aboard, Senior Chief Medical Officer." He leaned inwards before whispering tantalizingly in her ear, "And the next round of Serrice Ice Brandy is on me."
"Commander, you sure know just what to say to a girl…" laughed Chakwas, jabbing him lightly with her elbow.
Shepard took a step back and straightened up, asking, "How soon can you report to the Normandy?"
"In actuality I don't have much in the way of personal belongings. And since I spend the majority of my time here in the hospital rather than my apartment almost everything is in my locker. If you give me a couple of minutes to notify the staff of my resignation and to grab my things I can accompany you back to the dock."
"Very well," replied Shepard. "We're set to depart in an hour after we finish taking on the last of our fuel and supplies. Major Kirrahe asked to speak with me before we left so I wanted to arrive earlier than the rest of the crew. Liara and the rest know how to find their way back."
"Excellent. Shall we?"
SSV Normandy
En Route to Sur'Kesh
One-hundred and five…... one-hundred and ten…... one-hundred and fifteen…...
The Master Chief ran the nano-fiber cleaning cloth around the outsides of the cyclic energy attenuator before placing it back in its spot exactly half-an-inch to the right of the dorsal venting cusp.
He shifted his weight slightly, re-balancing himself as he hung upside-down from an elevated excessive bar by legs. He quickly pumped out another set of five crunches before returning his body and hands back to his very specific neutral position.
"One hundred and twenty," said Cortana off-handedly. On the floor in front of him lay the three-hundred and fifty-four individual components that made up his Experimental Adaptive Combat System. Getting close to being done, he moved on to cleaning the next part.
"You're more quiet than usual," noted Chief, gingerly picking up the manufacturing conversion tip and starting upon its specific cleaning process. Other than counting out his reps Cortana had been rather silent. Usually she was chatting his ear off about something or other. "What's on your mind?"
"I'm just… concerned about what's to come," she said. Chief didn't need to look at her avatar was frowning, her tone of voice told him that much.
"About Despara? You don't think the fleet can hold?" asked Chief.
"No, it's not that. What comes afterwards. One-hundred and twenty."
"How so?" John grunted out between another few crunches.
"What happened back at Alliance Earth, specifically what I somehow did to the Mass Relay, gave us what, three weeks maximum until the Reapers open up another front in Alliance Space? One-hundred and twenty-five."
"You're worried that we won't be able to expel the Reapers from Turian Space before they open the other front," Chief said, following her line of thought and setting down a small component of his rifle's mini-hardlight manufacturing plant.
"Yes," she replied rather grimly. "The Reapers have laid siege to thirty-one Turian planets in twenty-three individual systems by now. The Turians that are resisting on those systems are barely holding out, but they're being bled dry doing it, and won't last much longer without support. One-hundred and thirty. Given their numbers, three weeks to root the Reapers completely out of the Turian sector in time to transition forces to Alliance space is very optimistic."
"I had thought that was a given," said Chief, just finishing his third crunch out of his most recent set of five. "In terms of galactic warfare three weeks is nothing. The Covenant War went on for thirty-plus years. Lasky has to know that timeframe is unreasonable."
"One-hundred and thirty-five. He does know, he's told me as such. Lasky's primary concern is stretching our limited forces too thin, and that's exactly what a two-front war would do. Effective as our warships may be against the Reapers, if the Reapers manage to cut off and swarm an individual ship there wouldn't be anything we could do to stop it. The loss of even one of our Charon frigates would be a significant hit to our strategic power. One-hundred and forty."
"Any suggestions on what we should do?"
"I run millions of calculations every second, of course I have suggestions," said Cortana, smirking despite knowing that John couldn't see her avatar from the projector circle behind him. "We can't afford to get bogged down in lengthy search-and-destroy type operations throughout Turian space. One-hundred and forty-five. We need to locate and isolate the largest packets of Reaper forces we can find, then strike hard and fast as we make our way to Palaven. Since the Reaper offensive is currently rampaging through Turian space, we'll have several options to choose from in launching an aggressive counter-attack. We'll have the initiative. We'll have to have the initiative."
"Such aggressive tactics could risk leaving forces at our backs," said Chief.
"Yet if we dither too long in Palaven space and don't reinforce Alliance space the much larger Reaper force expected to arrive there will steamroll right over us. One-hundred and fifty."
The Master Chief shook his head, sighing quietly. "Galactic strategy isn't my forte. I prefer boots on the ground diplomacy."
"You don't need to tell me that," Cortana said mirthfully. "You're a grunt through and through. We'll leave it to Lasky and the other Big Wigs, they'll find a solution."
"One-hundred and fifty-five," grunted Chief as he put the last piece that needed cleaning back on the ground, the exterior trigger mechanism.
"Oh by the way, Lieutenant Vega is coming," alerted Cortana.
Though his auditory senses were significantly diminished when he was outside of his armor, they were still better than almost any human alive possessed. He blamed his inability to hear Vega coming down the stairs on the louder hum of the mass effect drive as it propelled the Normandy through FTL speeds and his conversation with Cortana. There was also the fact that she full well could have notified him much earlier, and perhaps Vega was walking extra-quietly in an attempt to surprise the Spartan.
Still hanging upside down he looked 'up' and saw Vega at the end of his corridor walking towards him, dressed in his typical black pants and grey Alliance Spec Ops shirt.
The Chief made a move to get off of his excersie bar but Vega quickly held out his hands and said, "No, please, stay where you are. I'm not interrupting anything am I?" The Lieutenant's eyes darted to the mass of rifle parts laid out along the floor and quickly came to the conclusion that he indeed might have.
"Just weapon maintenance," said Chief.
Vega's eyes traversed the hundreds of parts in neat rows and column and said, "This looks extremely complicated for simple weapon maintenance."
"The Adaptive Combat System is just out of prototype phase."
"There must be more than two hundred individual parts here, it must be a nightmare to take apart on the battlefield. What if you suffer a jam? How many pieces would you have to disassemble?"
"In the event of some other malfunction or for rapid cleaning the rifle can be split into its eight most basic components."
"Huh. So I'm guessing that this…" said Vega, pointing towards an upside-down Master Chief with hundreds of weapons parts below him, "Is 'thorough' cleaning?"
"Yes. Did you need something Lieutenant?" asked Chief, crossing his arms over his chest.
"Yeah," he said, gesturing back towards the direction of the shuttle bay. "Hungry?"
Chief thought for a brief second. It had been several hours since he had last eaten, it had been on the Citadel in fact. Right before their debrief to Lasky about Blue Team's mission on the Cerberus Cruiser he had wolfed down an energy bar, but nothing since then. As if on cue he felt his stomach start to grumble.
"Yes," he responded.
"Cool, I'll give you a few minutes to put that mess back together," Vega said, pointing towards the disassembled ACS and then turning around and walking away. "Hope you like eggs. Picked some up on the Citadel."
Chief watched him go and once the Spartan was sure that Vega had left Engineering he started to put his rifle back together. His hands became a blur of precise practiced movements as he assembled the rifle, the whole process done in minutes. One he was finished he swung off the exercise bar, put his ACS and cleaning kit in one of his secure lockers, and started towards the stairs.
"Eggs? At three in the morning?" asked Cortana, slightly amused.
"Day and night cycles don't exist on a warship," retorted Chief. "… I'm hungry."
"You humans and your inefficient need for basic 'necessities.' Fine, go eat your eggs. I'll be here sorting and analyzing all of the data I managed to pull from the Citadel's encrypted databases."
"I thought Lasky said no hacking."
"Oh you know Lasky, he's quite the joker. He didn't really mean that. Besides, it got boring near the end of our crusade to expel Cerberus. I had to find something to occupy myself."
While Chief knew that Lasky wasn't as intense and by-the-books as other officers he had served under - like the Infinity's late Captain Del Rio - he was positive that Lasky had meant what he said. But, he knew better than to try and dissuade Cortana from her antics.
Trying to tell her not to hack secure databases was like trying to tell an M9 High-Explosive Dual-Purpose Fragmentation Grenade not to detonate point five seconds after it hit a hard surface. Cortana was literally created to be the best piece of cyber-warfare and hacking equipment the UNSC had ever produced. He gave a silent sigh, resigning himself to hoping that Cortana was capable enough to not get caught by anyone. He knew she was, but he hoped so too. Chief made his way towards the stairs that led out of Engineering.
The small door to the service staircase spiraling around the Normandy's elevator slid open and the Master Chief stepped through, the metal barrier sliding shut nearly silently behind him. Though the overhead lights were quite dim to reflect the current night shift his enhanced vision could still easily make out the large white-block lettering on the bulkhead in front of him spelling CREWDECK.
The ship had finished its series of relay hops from the Citadel Mass Relay to the one in the Annos Basin about thirty minutes ago, and the Normandy was currently cruising through conventional FTL on it's way to the Pranas System and its final destination of the Salarian homeworld of Sur'Kesh.
Chief glanced at the watch-sized tac-pad he wore on his wrist - 0305. Around six hours until they were set to arrive at Sur'Kesh. A quiet sound caught his attention suddenly, and he cocked his head to see if it repeated itself. It did a second later, another soft cracking sound followed by some light scraping. It seemed like it was coming from the mess hall so Chief made his way in that direction.
As he passed into sight of the mess hall he discovered the source of the noise, one Lieutenant James Vega hunched over the stove in the Normandy's small kitchenette. Vega noticed the Master Chief appearing in his peripheral vision and turned his head to look at him, saying, "Hey Chief."
The Spartan just nodded in response. Most everyone else was asleep. Since they were cruising in the safety of FTL only the most vital crew were still at their stations, like the pilot, and engineers monitoring systems that required 24/7 oversight. The majority was sleeping in the crew quarters or in the sleeping pods down towards gunnery control.
"Why don't you sit down? It'll just be a couple more minutes," said Vega.
Chief picked a spot at the small four-person table nearest the kitchenette and sat down, trying to ignore the feeling of uneasiness that was slowly creeping into him. It wasn't Vega's fault, the large Marine has been nothing but polite and welcoming to him. Rather it was just that he still hadn't gotten used to the Normandy and the rest of Shepard's crew.
After years of working alone following the disaster that was Reach, being separated from the Spartans that had been his only family since he was six years old, fighting against the horrors of the Covenant, the Flood, and the Didact, he had finally returned to some sense to his life.
He had been reunited with his team, Fred, Kelly, Linda, his friends. He had once again been given purpose, drive, a sense of normalcy. Whether it was eradicating remnants of the Storm Covenant, conducting deep range reconnaissance of surviving outer colonies with suspected Insurrectionist activity, or accompanying scientist teams on investigations to newly discovered Forerunner installations, he had always had a mission.
Now, Lasky had separated him from his fellow Spartans and placed him on the Normandy with the broad order of 'protecting UNSC interests' and not much else. The Master Chief had a great respect for Lasky after what he did to help him take out the Didact back on Requiem, but he still didn't understand why he had to be the one to accompany Shepard.
Another reason he felt uneasy was because the Commander had politely asked Chief to keep his armor off outside of combat situations, like on the Normandy or around the Citadel. Chief had been very reluctant, his Mjolnir was as much a part of him as a second layer of skin, but his decades of military experience had caught the unsaid order in between Shepard's words.
He felt almost naked in a way, relegated to wearing nothing but Alliance fatigues, combat boots, a personal hardlight barrier, and a M6H magnum. Shepard had said that it was supposed to make him more approachable to the crew, but Chief wasn't so sure about that. Most everyone had stayed a comfortable distance away from him, whether it was due to his massive figure, intimidating looks because of his pale skin and myriad of scars, or just because he was UNSC and therefore an unknown quantity.
Even his fellow UNSC personnel were the same way in a sense, Dolton and Cehack spending more time around the two aircraft in the Shuttle Bay than the rest of the Normandy crew. The only person he could truly call a friend on the Normandy was Cortana, just like it had been for the past several years.
Chief frowned, thinking back to when she awakened him on the Forward Unto Dawn after five years of cryo-sleep. As the pair paraded around on Requiem trying to stop the Didact it was obvious that she was in the last stages of her seven-year lifespan, and that the telltale signs of rampancy were starting to set in. At first Chief didn't want to believe it, that his closest partner, someone who knew him almost better than he knew himself, someone who had quite literally been inside of his head, was at the end of her life.
As they fought across the Forerunner shield world his greatest fear hadn't been the Storm Covenant, the Prometheans, or even the Didact himself. It had been the fear of losing Cortana, losing the one thing that mattered to him the most.
Now the Chief was far from religious, but it had sure felt like a miracle when the imprint of the Librarian had rewritten Cortana's 'genetic code' in the same way that she had rewritten his own to become immune to the effects of the Composer. The Librarian's imprint had imparted fractions of its own code to Cortana, overwriting the comparatively primitive sections that had started their descent into rampancy.
At that moment Vega turned around from the stove, two rather gigantic plates of eggs in his hands. He set them down with a smile, saying, "Sorry if I made too much, I just figured you'd be the type of person who would eat a lot of eggs."
Chief eyed the heaping plate of eggs as Vega went back for two glasses of water, precise vision picking out the small granules of salt and pepper that had been used for seasoning and seeing the small wisps of steam rising up into the Normandy's recycled atmosphere.
"Here, try sprinkling some of this over 'em," said Vega, passing Chief a small bottle of red sauce labeled 'Tabasco.' "Not too much though, unless you really like that sort of kick."
Chief took his advice, uncapping the bottle and portioning a small amount of the Tabasco over his plate. He handed it back to Vega who applied a much more vigorous coating of the sauce to his own plate. "Bon appetite," the Marine said quietly before forking a large spoonful of eggs into his mouth, Chief following suit right after.
The two ate in silence for a minute or so before Vega asked between bites, "So how are they?"
"Good," responded Chief. In actuality, after an entire lifetime of growing up on UNSC mess halls and MRE's this simple plate of eggs was without a doubt one of the tastiest dishes he had ever eaten in his life.
The Spartan wolfed down the rest of his eggs in less than three minutes, fast eating a by-product of having meals in the field where you could be called back into action at any second. Not wanting to be rude and leave the table right then, he figured he could try and follow Shepard's advice to get to know the crew better by trying to strike up a conversation with Vega. "You mentioned that you couldn't sleep?"
"Yeah… I've just been thinking a lot. About everything, you know?" said Vega.
"The Reapers? Cerberus and the Citadel?" asked Chief.
"Well yeah of course, I mean who wouldn't be thinking about the possible end of life as we know it, or a large-scale terrorist attack on the center of galactic civilization?" Vega said, shaking his head. "It's not that so much. I'd rather leave the large-scale worrying to the Generals and Admirals. No, I've just been wondering what I'm doing here, on the Normandy."
"I'm not sure I follow," said Chief, furrowing his brows, though he was starting to suspect what might be bothering the Alliance Marine.
Vega chuckled quietly, saying, "I don't think that you would. I'm not sure if you know or not, but Commander Shepard? He's a maltido legend. N7, Hero of the Skyllian Blitz, the Savior of the Citadel, Destroyer of the Collectors… Almost everyone in the galaxy has heard of Shepard. And his crew? Garrus Vakarian? Liara T'soni? Major Alenko? Flight Lieutenant Moreau? Shepard's ship, the Normandy? They're all legends. Almost everybody has heard of them."
"What are you trying to say?"
"What I'm trying to say is, what the hell am I doing here?" revealed Vega, letting his fork fall to his empty plate with a small crash. "I'm just your average jarhead."
Now Chief understood.
"I've seen you fight Vega, you're an excellent soldier," said Chief, thinking back to the Marine's solid performances on Mars and Menae.
"Thanks," Vega said genuinely, "But just think about it. Shepard's an N7, the Alliance's best of the best. Shepard, Alenko, and T'soni are all practiced biotics. Joker has graduated from a dozen different flight schools and is certified to fly every goddamn ship in the Alliance Navy. Vakarian is without a doubt the best sniper and marksman I've ever seen."
Chief gave a quick exhale of breath through his nose at that last statement. The Turian wouldn't hold a candle to Linda.
"And you're some kind of UNSC supersoldier," continued Vega, "And don't say you aren't, because I've seen what regular UNSC Marines look like, I've seen them on the Citadel. There's a reason you were the only UNSC soldier that was put on the Normandy."
Chief simply nodded, Vega was right after all. He supposed the Spartan-II's were the closest thing the UNSC had to 'supersoldiers.'
"Then there's me. Do you know what I was doing before I got swept up onto the Normandy when the Reaper's landed on Earth? I was an armory technician. Sure, I had been accepted into the N-School, but that was still months away. Then the first wave of Reapers showed up, kicked us off of Earth, and here I am."
"You think that you don't belong here," Chief deduced.
"Exactly," replied Vega, staying silent for a minute. "Working in that armory was a glorified desk job. I used to be Special Forces, serving on our outer colonies, protecting new Alliance worlds from slavers, mercs, or worse. "
Vega sat there, his head facing the direction of the darkened medbay but his eyes glazed over, unfocused. "I was stationed on a world called Fel Prime when a race called the Collectors attacked."
"I've read about them," Chief said, recalling the information from a specific set of pages in one of Cortana's information dossiers.
"Yeah? Well then you should know that they're a living nightmare. They wanted to harvest the colony's population, and it was our job to keep that from happening." Vega let out a heavy sigh, gaze shifting downwards to the table below him. "Long story short, we failed. All of the colonists died, along with most of my men. Alliance Brass commended me over and over again for my performance and they even promoted me, but I didn't deserve it. I requested that armory position."
Silence fell for another short while, Chief could obviously the Marine was heavily conflicted. Vega felt that, compared to the legends that had become of Shepard and his crew, he didn't stack up. He was just a regular Alliance Marine, among a team of giants who had accomplished near mythical feats; people who have saved the entire galaxy. Twice. It was that last part that really seemed to hit home with Vega. He didn't care for the fame or the glory, he only cared for protecting his people and he had yet to take to heart that most important of lessons. In war people died, despite your best efforts to save them. Chief couldn't help but draw parallels to his own experiences.
"I fought on dozens of planets during the Covenant War. No matter how many battles we won on the ground, how many we killed, how many we saved, it hardly mattered. After destroying our own ships the Covenant would just glass the planet from orbit. I know what it's like to lose people."
He looked up at Vega and saw that the Lieutenant was watching him with rapt attention, so Chief continued. "At the start of that war there were nearly thirty Spartans, soldiers just like me. There are only seven of us left. We had all known and fought with each other for decades. They weren't just my squadmates, they were my family."
Vega let out a heavy sigh. "I have a feeling that you don't tell many people that."
"You would be right."
"Well? How do you do it? Get past it?" asked Vega.
"There's always another mission. I just focus on that as best I can."
"What happens when you run out of missions?"
The Master Chief didn't have an answer for that one. After Vega had determined that for himself he stood up and took his plate to the kitchenette sink. "Nice talking with you Chief, and thanks. Glad you liked the eggs," he said before walking away towards the elevator, leaving the Spartan alone at the table.
He heard the elevator close and at that moment Cortana's small holographic avatar popped up on the table in front of him, hands cocked on her hips. "I must say, that's the most I've heard you talk at one time since we've gotten her. Interesting.
The AI was right. He didn't know what had possessed him to open up to Vega in the way he did, but he had. "What's interesting?" he asked Cortana, referring to her last word.
The AI graced him with a beaming smile. "I think you might have made a friend."
Sur'Kesh
"Now remember, this is a simple pickup. The Salarians are going to bring us to the female, take her out of containment, and we all return to the Normandy. Easy. So keep your weapons holstered," said Shepard. "Wrex."
The Krogan shot Shepard a toothy snarl at his last word. "Nothing's ever simple when it comes to the Salarians," he grunted, begrudgingly returning his monstrous Claymores shotgun to the small of his back, "Sneaky bastards. If they try something I'm killing every single one of them."
"Wrex," Shepard repeated sternly, "No one's killing anyone else. The Salarians are our allies."
"You'll forgive me if I'm not immediately friendly with the species that intended to doom the Krogan to extinction. That female is the future of my race and I'll be damned if any Salarian keeps her from me," Wrex exclaimed hotly. Shepard let out a heavy sigh and rubbed his temples.
From the other side of the troop bay the Master Chief observed the exchange with no small amount of apprehension. The Great Uniter of the Krogan Clans had been on edge ever since they arrived in-system, and while Chief could certainly understand his fervor to save his race, at the same time he wasn't too interested in getting into a firefight on the Salarian homeworld because of a snapped temper.
Judging by the concerned expressions on the faces of Major Alenko and Dr. T'soni, he wasn't the only one who felt that way. Garrus was just busy going over his sniper rifle, only giving a passing glance to Wrex and Shepard's conversation.
"Thirty seconds out, we've been giving clearance to land by Salarian Base Control," informed Cortez through the Kodiak's internal speakers.
"Good," responded Shepard, "Tell Viper-Heavy to stay in the air shadowing the landing pad."
"Roger Commander."
The stealth gunship, Vega waiting in the troop bay, was going to serve as their fast-reaction force if needed. Chief hoped that the heavy weaponry aboard the Pelican wouldn't be needed, but it felt nice to have it just in case they did.
The half-minute until they landed passed in silence, and Chief felt the slight thump of the shuttle setting down on the pad through the soles of his boots. Shepard did a final check of his squad to make sure that everyone had their weapons holstered, spending a couple of more seconds looking over Wrex just to make sure.
Shepard hit the door open button and the side of the Kodiak slid open to reveal the Salarian homeworld of Sur'Kesh. The group stepped out onto the landing pad into the waiting gazes of a squad of eight black-armored Salarians soldiers, their weapons holstered behind their backs or on their hips as well.
Chief took a moment to look around, the beauty of the lush jungles, steep cliffs, and gushing waterfalls mostly unnoticed by the Spartan. Instead he thought about how the surrounding cliff-faces would be perfect for snipers.
One of the Salarians stepped forwards towards Shepard and said, "Commander Shepard, I'm Padok Wiks, the base commander of this research facility. Colonel Kirrahe told us to expect you're arrival."
"Good," responded Shepard, "Though I'm sorry to say that the Colonel was called away to the War Council and thus was not able to accompany us."
"We are aware," nodded Wiks. "Please, if you'll follow me I'll lead you down to the research labs."
Shepard nodded and with a hand wave motioned his group forwards as the Salarian guards moved to flank them. The Master Chief however was still deep in his own observations of their surroundings and their Salarian hosts. With the help of Cortana he was thoroughly analyzing every Salarian he could see for such things like weaponry specifications, armor types, unit insignia, body language, and facial expressions.
He wasn't an expert on Salarian mannerisms but from what Cortana was relaying through his ear they were all displaying signs of outwards calmness and professionalism, expected of STG soldiers at such a high-value location.
However, when Chief's gaze shifted to the last of their Salarian STG guard the hairs on the back of his neck stood up, his muscles tensed, and his eyes instinctively narrowed. He looked up and down the Salarian trying to find out what gave him such a visceral, negative reaction but everything he saw visually didn't suggest any differences compared to his comrades.
Cortana sensed Chief's physical reaction and ran a directed scan on the Salarian in the center of the Spartan's vision, but again none of the vital sign readings suggested that anything was amiss.
Chief frowned as they reached what looked to be the open door to a large elevator to which Padok Wiks motioned them inside. Their Salarian guard took positions outside of the door, obviously not going to accompany them down into the depths of the research base. Remembering his discussion with Shepard about trusting his instincts back when he was attacked by Shepard's former squadmate Miranda, as the door started to close Chief sent a text message to Commander's helmet visor.
"Commander, as I was examining the guard squad that greeted us I came across a Salarian that didn't feel right."
Chief could see Shepard's brows furrow beneath his clear visor and he soon got a return message that said, "Didn't feel right? What do you mean?"
"There's something about him" Chief told him, "He feels like danger."
"I didn't get any such reaction, but I believe you Chief. We have to get this Krogan female, but I'll tell the squad to be on their guard."
A couple of seconds later he could see Kaiden, Liara, Garrus, and Wrex all subtly tense up, having gotten Shepard's message through their earpieces or on their own visors. Base Commander Padok Wiks noticed this small change, but aside from a second of narrowed and rapid eye blinking, showed no other physical reaction to it.
Killing the Krogan Female is the primary objective. Kirrahe, Shepard and Wiks are secondary, but kill them if you have the opportunity as well. Succeed, and you will be remembered as a hero. Fail, and your entire family will fall into ruin.
The Salarian Corporal breathed heavily, remembering his orders. He flexed his three fingers against his palm in the precise order that would trigger the pressure plate beneath his glove, thereby arming the explosive vest lining his armor.
The former head of STG, Colonel Puzel, had contacted him a day ago and given him an ultimatum. Sacrifice himself to kill the Krogan female cured of the Genophage, or the last remaining copy of his family's reproduction data would be destroyed.
Puzel had said that his viruses had wiped out all digitally stored copies, and when the Corporal had tried to access them he found that the Colonel hadn't been lying. On the vidcall Puzel had held up the OSD that contained the last remaining copy, and by then he Salarian knew he had no choice but to comply. Any attempts to report or alert other STG authorities to Puzel's plan would result in immediate destruction, so the Corporal hadn't even tried.
This was his entire family that was on the line. Unlike most other Citadel races, Salarian families consisted of hundreds of parents, siblings, uncles, aunts, and cousins. Losing the data that would be key into negotiated reproduction contracts would for certain bring his loved ones to ruin. He couldn't let that happen.
If he had to die, so be it. He was doing his duty. The clan always came first. If the Krogan had to die, so be it. He never liked them anyways, and strongly disagreed with the recent changes to the Salarian political mindset that the Krogan were needed for the war effort. If Shepard and his crewmembers had to die, so be it. He never thought that his merry band of vigilantes deserved the hero worship they got either.
The Salarian Corporal steadied himself. He would certainly die, but it wouldn't be in vain.
They soon stepped out into the laboratory proper, a large room dotted with research terminals staffed by their attending Salarian scientists, technicians and engineers. Cortana highlighted several Salarian guards posted around the edges of the room, watching Shepard's newly arrived group with cautious gazes. The Master Chief picked up one Salarian making his way towards them, this one sporting some type of semi-armored labcoat and missing the top of his right horn.
"Mordin?" questioned Shepard in a tone of disbelief, obviously recognizing the Salarian.
"Shepard, good to see you," the Salarian - 'Mordin' - replied.
"What are you doing here?" asked Shepard, extending a hand which Mordin shook.
"After defeat of Collectors was asked by STG to become 'special consultant'," said Mordin in his characteristically short, clipped pattern of speech. "Sent tip to STG following dismantling of Maelon's clinic. Team came to extract surviving Krogan females and provide adequate medical attention."
Mordin then leaned in close to whisper into Shepard's ear, but luckily the Chief's auditory sensors were advanced enough to still pick it up. "Am Wrex's secret contact. Notified him of single surviving female that showed full signs of Genophage cure."
The Salarian doctor leaned back and continued with, "Efforts to synthesize universal cure stonewalled by political infighting." He glanced back towards the inside of the lab with a look of distaste on his face before turning back to Shepard. "Until now. Have been working nonstop for past ten hours since receiving order to commit full resources to curing Genophage. Maelon's researched proved to be a boon in our efforts."
"And? Have you made any progress?" questioned Wrex quickly.
"Some. Need tissue samples from viable Krogan male to proceed further." Mordin looked up at Wrex, saying, "Shouldn't be a problem anymore."
The Doctor put a finger to his ear and was silent for a few seconds before he said, "They're bringing her out of stasis now. It should only be a few minutes."
Mordin took a step towards Shepard, looking up and down his group. "Kaidan. Garrus. Liara. Wrex. The old team, this time under an Alliance banner again." He then took a long look at the Master Chief, eyes traversing up and down his armored bulk. "And then, there is… this?"
"Him, actually," corrected Shepard.
"Him? So, not a mech. Theorized as much. Movements too fluid. Too precise."
"Master Chief Petty Officer Spartan-117, United Nations Space Command," announced Chief.
"Hmm. Interesting," said Mordin. "MCPO is Naval rank yes? Special Operations is my hypothesis, supported by advanced looking armor and weapon systems, and numerical moniker. Why are you with the Commander?"
"I'll explain everything later Mordin," said Shepard, "It's all rather… complicated."
"Of course, everything is these days," said Mordin, shaking his head. He turned around and saw a door on the far side of the room open. "Here she comes now."
They all turned their heads to watch her approach, flanked by two Salarian STG guards on either side. She was dressed in navy blue trimmed with silver and an ornate headdress that covered most of her face save the bridge of her nose and her two small eyes. Wrex was the first to approach her and he started to say, "My name is Urdnot Rex and I'm here to – "
The female Krogan didn't let him finish however, interrupting with, "I know who you are and why you're here. I'm very tired and would very much like to get back to your ship."
"Uh, okay?" Wrex stammered, the Krogan Warlord obviously not used to being cut off like that.
"The procedures she went through were very... intense," Mordin notified, turning his nose up in discomfort for a brief second. "She is still in the recovery process."
"Alright then," said Shepard, "Let's get back to the shuttles."
He looked to Padok Wiks, who nodded and motioned for the group to get back into the elevator. With the added bulk of the female Krogan and Dr. Solis it was a tighter fit on the way up than it was on the way down, but soon enough the elevator started back to the top.
Meanwhile, the Master Chief couldn't shake that feeling of uneasiness that he felt when he looked at that one specific Salarian soldier earlier. In fact, if anything the feeling was getting stronger.
The elevator signaled the end of it's ascent with a small ding, and the door started to open. The Master Chief, at the front of the group, noticed that one specific Salarian walking quickly towards them. Chief's feeling of unease turned into a straight sense of pure danger. He soon found out why when Cortana's scan of the Salarian discovered an explosive vest underneath his armor. That's when all hell broke loose.
Chief's mind went into overdrive. Bomb. Cortana didn't catch it the first time, which meant that it must've been recently activated. The relatively confined area that surrounded them would only serve to amplify the bombs explosive effects, even if the explosive payload was relatively small.
Who was the target? Him? Shepard and his team? The Krogan? Dr. Solis? He decided that the female Krogan was the most likely answer. Shepard and Wrex mentioned that not all Salarians might find curing the Genophage to be the most acceptable option. But who would order such an attack? Disgruntled Dalatrasses? Competing STG officers? Hell, it could just be a lone wolf thinking this was the right and noble thing to do.
All of this didn't matter really, because right now Chief just need to figure out how to survive the next few seconds. The world around him slowed to almost a standstill, a byproduct of the rush of chemicals filling his bloodstream that distorted his perception of time.
Spartan Time.
Chief assumed the Salarian's vest had a dead-man's switch, so killing him with a shot to the head would likely serve to just detonate the bomb a few meters away from its intended target. The extra distance might prove enough to allow him to survive in his Mjolnir, but it likely wouldn't make much of a difference for the others of his party.
One piece of equipment that he always carried belt immediately came to mind: The Z-4190 Temporal Protective Enfolder/Stationary Shield. Or, bubble shield, for short. With his right hand he flicked the bubble shield off his belt towards the ground and with his left he snatched a fragmentation grenade off of his bandolier and flung it at the approaching Salarian bomber.
It impacted the Salarian square in the chest, the force of the blow enough to cause him to stagger back a few feet before the explosive sphere clanked to the ground. At that precise moment the bubble shield activated, surrounding Chief and Shepard's group a hexagonal sphere of protective energy. It was only then that the Commander and the others began to realize something was amiss, reflexes and processing speeds in this instant hopelessly outclassed by the Spartan.
Half a second after it impacted the ground the grenade detonated, filleting the bomber to shreds. The grenade also caused the bomber's explosive vest to detonate, the blast so large that even behind the protection offered by the bubble shield, his energy shields, and his Mjolnir armor, Chief found himself thrown back into the wall behind him, hard.
As he recovered Chief noticed the bubble shield, STG soldiers guarding the elevator, and most of the mezzanine itself had simply vanished. Suit alarms warbling he sprung to his feet and unholstered his rifle, sparing a glance backwards to his compatriots. Thankfully most were starting the process of coming to and picking themselves back up off the ground.
It seemed that his gamble paid off; the bubble shield and his own advanced energy shields absorbed and redirected the majority of the blast. The only one who wasn't incapacitated in one form or another was Urdnot Wrex, in fact he was quite the opposite of incapacitated. His massive shotgun was in his hands, his mouth locked in a toothy snarl, and his burning red eyes fixated on a squad of an STG responds team just arriving on the scene.
"Blood rage!" Cortana alerted, obviously having noticed the symptoms and resulting biometric changes to Wrex's readings. If Chief had to guess, Wrex probably assumed that the Salarian's just tried to kill not only him, but the last hope of his race, and was therefore going to return the act in kind.
The Master Chief couldn't let that happen, as their chances of surviving a shooting war in the middle of an STG base while trying to get back to Cortez's Kodiak were not great in their favor.
He dropped his rifle, squatted downwards, squared his hips and sprung upwards with the force and speed that only a Spartan could muster. He outstretched his palm and aimed right towards Rex's chin. The blow that could've killed many species thankfully had its desired effect, impacting Wrex and immediately knocking him unconscious.
Chief looked behind again, pleased to see Shepard, Garrus, Kaidan, and the female Krogan all getting up to their feet, the Commander supporting a dazed Liara leaning on his shoulder. Base Commander Padok Wiks hadn't moved yet. A quick directional scan of his vitals turned up negative, and Chief frowned.
"Back to the shuttle," ordered Chief, returning his rifle to his back and hoisting Wrex's into his arms, straining slightly under the exertion. Shepard grunted what sounded like an affirmative, Garrus now cradling the unconscious form of Dr. Solus, and they all set off in a half-run half-limp. Chief couldn't help but be extremely wary of the multiple STG response teams that had now arrived, weapons half-raised towards them, not knowing whether they should be shooting Shepard's entourage or letting him get back to his transport.
No doubt the menacing form of the fully visible Viper-Heavy gunship hovering above them was dissuading them from firing, but either way Chief wanted to get back to the relative safety of the Normandy as soon as possible.
"A suicide bomber?!" Dalton's voice crackled over the comm as he continued maneuvering the Pelican to shadow their retreat to Cortez's shuttle. Cortana must have alerted him to what happened, Chief didn't think he could have found out any other way.
It was clear that the STG base was on full alert. Gunships and fighters were being scrambled, sirens were blaring, and STG response teams littered the path back to the shuttle. Surprisingly they made it back to Cortez's Kodiak at their landing pad unmolested. Chief found it surprising because if one looked at any kind of security footage of the moment of detonation, it looked like he threw a grenade and killed all of those STG soldiers.
They all filed into the troop bay, Chief dumping Wrex's body to the deck with an unceremonious thud. "Back to the Normandy," Chief told Cortez, "Punch it."
As a Kodiak climb for atmosphere followed closely by Viper-Heavy, Shepard looked around at his crewmates and with a bewildered look on his face echoed what they were all thinking.
"What the fuck just happened?"
Special thanks to my betas JonHarper and Bearmauls