Tuchanka was definitely no vacation resort, by any stretch of the imagination. Once blue rivers flowed with sickly green and brown liquids, mighty mountains were reduced to radioactive foothills. This was a constant reminder that the krogan home world was constantly under siege from its own inhabitants, the tank-like beasts slogging whatever weapons they had against their rival clans. And they had a plethora of arms.
Bullets pinging against the hull of your ship, the rockets narrowly missing, and a VI's repeated warnings of a nuclear launch were to be expected.
The hollow corpses of what were once towering buildings laid on their sides, shattered into large sections. Smashed chunks of concrete littered the ground around mangled metal spires, tattered clan flags flown from their tops.
Private First Class Mitchell Young couldn't help but shake in his hardsuit. He had never been groundside for anything, not even for training. Every moment of his short military career, the marine spent had it either on space stations or aboard ships, ever since he was first picked up by a recruiter from one of Earth's few habitable zones.
He was then brutally trained by the hardest of drill instructors aboard Arcturus Station and the SSV Xerxes. The Earthling was taught how to wear the Alliance Marine uniform with pride, how to fire his rifle, and most importantly, he learned what it meant to be a soldier for the Alliance. It meant that you were willing to put the needs of mankind well above your own, the lives of millions over one.
But never once did he think he was going to drop into the krogan homeworld and get to see honest-to-god aliens. Especially krogan.
"All right!"
Every marine in the dropship turned their heads towards the front of the front of the tiny bay they were crammed in.
Operations Chief Marston Wesley then announced, "Take ya' rad pills now, boys. Then get your buckets on! We're hitting the ground in two."
With that Mitchell and the eight other marines in the small craft the thumb-sized pills into their mouths, the pill itself designed to protect soldiers from the harsh, radioactive atmosphere of Tuchanka. Apparently the hardsuits kinetic barriers and armor plating wasn't enough to keep the radioactivity at bay.
Comforting.
The Private then slid his helmet over his head and locked into place with his neck-guard, sealing the man off from the outside world.
Wesley checked his omni-tool with a shaky hand, and then announced, "Lock and load, people! Once we hit the ground, I want Young and Cortoza on point." The two marines lifted their eyes from their weapons. "You two got the biggest guns we got, and although the Commander assures me this won't turn into a shitstorm, I won't take any chances with the krogan."
It was a fair enough assessment. Mitchell carried the teams only Revenant, just like Cortoza carried the only rocket launcher. But the stories of the krogan being organic tanks with hide likened to titanium plating made the Private feel a little more than just uneasy.
The chatter from the pilot picked up.
"This is Stormbreaker Three-six, fallout is moving westward and is not over the current LZ. We've been painted by at least eight different anti-air towers, but have not been fired upon. You sure you wanna land, sir?"
Commander Ryker's icy voice came in, "Do it."
"Aye aye, sir."
Mitchell could feel the shift of the dropship rearranging its course, heading straight for the landing zone, a small tower on the grounds of the Uerthe Clan. The Private had studied a bit of krogan culture in high school. Described as walking tanks that were built to survive and thrive in the worst of conditions. They were a brutal, clan-based society, favoring physical domination over political. The stronger clans attempted to either assimilate or annihilate the weaker ones. Females were coveted above all else, ever since the genophage ravaged the species' ability to reproduce, clan warfare was not as brutal as had once been.
Before, the krogan would wipe out an opposing clan if they refused to join forces, indiscriminately killing the men, women, and children. Now, however, the aliens would spare the women and children whenever possible.
Suddenly, the dropship rocked as it touched down upon the roof of the concrete structure. Rising to his feet, Mitchell slapped a fresh heat sink into his weapon an moved towards the exit ramp.
He looked back to Wesley shakily wiping sweat off his forehead before putting his helmet on. The Chief caught the Private's gaze and warned the entire squad, "This here is the wild west, boys. Everyone is packing heat, and they'll kill you for lookin' at 'em funny."
The ramp began to drop, and the furiously hot air of Tuchanka wrapped around each marine.
Taking his tentative first steps onto an alien world, Mitchell Young came face-to-face with the first alien he's seen in person.
It was big. Very big. At least seven feet tall, the creature was covered in battle scars and scorched pieces of armor. The large plate that covered its head was once a bright red, but know stained with ash, blood, and several gashes. Intelligent orange eyes followed the Private's, straight through his visor.
The krogan chuckled, not worried about the group of humans before him.
"I thought you humans would be more impressive." It spoke methodically, tone so low it seemed almost menacing. The orange eyes never left Mitchell as the alien grinned, "I could break you, human. Then probably eat you."
Mitchell's heart jumped into his throat, and the grip he had around the Revenant in his hands tightened, finger inching ever so closer to the trigger. He noticed out of the corner of his vision Cortoza was nervously bouncing on the soles of her feet. Like the giants of old fairytales, the alien approached the two lead marines with each step sounding like a thunderous boom to them.
"We're here to see Clan Leader Araxx, krogan," Wesley spoke up, leading the rest of the marines off the dropship. "Show us the way or move."
The beast snorted, dragging his large fingers over the scars that traced along his crest, "And if I think you're unworthy of being in Uerthe Araxx's presence? What then, human?"
"Then I'll make you move, krogan."
The krogan's orbs darted towards the dropship. Standing atop the exit ramp was a human of familiar stature. The deep blue markings of his armor gave him away instantly.
Slowly, the krogan smiled again, "Ryker…I haven't seen you since Noveria…that was a hell of a fight."
The Commander moved past his marines and extended his arm to the krogan, who in turn grabbed it and shook.
"Travak. Your ugly ass hasn't fared well over the years, has it?"
A laugh, followed by a wide grin of stained teeth, "No. I doubt you've held up so well yourself."
Ryker's seemingly warm façade turned cold, "Trav, I need to see Araxx, it's important that I meet with him as soon as possible."
The krogan nodded and without question motioned the Commander to follow. Quickly, Ryker turned and ordered his marines to fall in as they marched, the alien taking the lead.
They were guided down the tower and into the main encampment of the Uerthe Clan. Mitchell felt almost at home for a moment. The entire area seemed to be designed like a military base, albeit littered with rubble from once tall buildings. One could easily make out defensive emplacements if the walls and outer defenses fell, tents probably meant for troops, and a small concrete structure meant for officers, or in this case, clan leaders.
What the Private couldn't get over where the aliens. Krogan of different shapes and colors were everywhere. Some sat on large stones, tending to their weapons while the never-ending din of gunfire was a constant reminder that battle was always near. Others were fighting each other. It wasn't simple sparring, but full on combat.
Orange blood covered the face of a younger alien as it fell to the ground, where the much older battlemaster kicked the youngling square in the face.
The small crowd that was gathered around the fight watched silently as the krogan ordered, "Get up, splitplate!" Another kick. "You should've died in the womb along with your thousand other siblings! You aren't worthy of the title of kro-"
Sweeping his foot out, the youngling brought his battlemaster to the ground, jumping up and slamming his head plate against his foe's. Growling, the youngling then grabbed his throat. The crowd broke into cheers.
"Good," the battlemaster wheezed. "You're learning!"
And others simply watched the passing humans, some seemed to be intently interested, most seemed to not care. It was…unsettling to the young marine.
"Hey, Young." It was Cortoza, coming in over his headset.
"Yeah?"
"Calm the hell down," the woman spat. "I can hear your damn breathing over the mic. Cool it."
He didn't even realize he was breathing that hard. Nervously holding in his breath, the marine squeezed the gun a little tighter.
Leading them all to the modest concrete building, Travak halted just outside motioned Ryker inside, "The other humans will have to stay, Ryker. Araxx doesn't like dealing with more than one little bastard at a time."
Ryker grinned, "I have no idea how he dealt with you all this time." He turned to his marines, "Squad, hold positions here. I shouldn't be long."
"You raid my camp, slaughter my finest warriors, take the women and children for yourself, destroy our ammo depots, and now you offer me this?"
Uerthe Araxx nodded slowly, "I offer you safety from death, Urdnot. That should be enough. I had my men spare you because I knew you were the strongest amongst your clan. You will start at the bottom of my clan, but I will allow to earn it all back. You may mate, become a battlemaster. Consider my kindness carefully."
The battle-scarred warrior before him growled and spat at the feet of Araxx, "Screw you, bastard."
Rising from his stone 'throne' Araxx stood in front of the defiant Urdnot warrior. Araxx placed a hand on the much younger krogan's shoulder, "You're very brave. I admire that." His free hand shoved the barrel of a shotgun into the Urdnot's stomach. "What I don't admire however, is stupidity."
The gun came to life, blowing a hole straight through the Urdnot warrior, spraying orange gore across the far wall and over the backs of Araxx's guards, who were watching the entrance with machine-like discipline.
Gasping for breath, the Urdnot warrior stumbled backwards and fell.
Pumping the weapon, Araxx approached and then pressed the his weapon against the Urdnot's head, firing again. Head whipping back as his plate was split in half, the defiant krogan spastically threw a balled fist out in a punch.
The Clan Leader fired again. Still twitching with life or brain damage, he didn't care.
Araxx huffed, "Defiant to the end, huh?"
He unloaded another shot. No more punching, no more twitching.
"Business as usual, Araxx?"
The Uerthe leader looked up. It was almost as if an apparition was before him, taking the form of a human he had long believed would never return to Tuchanka, but the icy blue gaze that met Araxx immediately banished all of those thoughts.
"Charles Ryker." Araxx holstered his weapon and approached the Commander. He lifted a hand in greeting.
The human removed his helmet, the confident grin that always seemed plastered on his face was there. Ryker took the krogan's hand and shook hard, "Araxx, it's been a long time. I've seen you taken a lot of territory. You only used to have control of the canyons to the east the last time I was here."
Araxx finally smiled, remembering when the human first landed on Tuchanka. "Now Clan Uerthe owns everything from here to the Deadlands, my friend."
The old krogan leader vividly recalled when his clan was one of the smallest and weakest, at its worst consisting of only three dozen. He had once seriously considered melding with the considerably stronger clan Urdnot at the time, but Travak and many of the other battlemasters rejected this notion.
Being a krogan meant hardship, and they were willing to go through hell to maintain their heritage.
And now, Uerthe was well over a thousand strong and controlled much of the region, if not all.
"Impressive," Ryker nodded. His eyes fell to the body on the floor. "Friend of yours?"
Shaking his head, the krogan sat back down on his 'throne' and sighed, "He was an Urdnot warrior. One of the strongest krogan I've seen, but when I gave him the choice between loyalty to our clan or death, well…" Merely motioning to the corpse, Uerthe's commander turned his blood-red orbs to the Alliance officer, "What do I owe this visit, Ryker. Last time I heard from you, you were hunting a rogue sects of your own kind. What happened to that?"
Ryker's eyes fell to the floor, "They won…"
The krogan merely watched him for the next few moments, patiently waiting for the human to speak.
"But that's not why I'm here." He brought up his omni-tool and prepped a video for the krogan, who merely waved it off.
"I know what's been happening on the Citadel. Mass evacuations." Araxx smiled and snorted at Ryker's surprised face, "Just because Tuchanka doesn't have a reliable connection to the extranet, information gets out quick, my friend. I am well-informed of the current situation regarding your kind."
All the human commander could do was smile, "Then you must know why I'm here."
"Obviously wasn't to admire the scenery."
"Humanity needs a home, Araxx. The few colonies we have in the Terminus are constantly under attack and we don't have nearly enough manpower to hold any of them for much longer, Earth is beyond far gone, and now the Citadel isn't an option."
"So, what do you plan on doing about it?"
Araxx took in the information bit by bit as Ryker explained. Mankind was planning to force the Council races off the Citadel. The krogan merely huffed, "That's a ballsy suggestion. If your Alliance is as undermanned as you say, how can you possibly take on the fleets of all three Council races? Any one of them have you outmanned, it seems."
"That's where the quarians come in."
The clan leader chuckled, "The suit-wearing vagrants? I'm pretty sure that you've had a few choice words for them yourself, my friend. None of them kind."
Slowly stepping over the Urdnot corpse, Ryker stood next to the alien and slowly stated, "I…have had several negative experiences with quarian race. Personally, I have found them to be a pack of hyenas willing to stab you in the ass as soon as they get what they want. If they choose to accept our proposal, their fleet and marines will greatly strengthen our forces."
Araxx remembered the quarian homeworld, he had visited with his battlemaster roughly three hundred and twenty-five years ago in an attempt to acquire higher-grade weaponry. Well before the geth insurrections, Rannoch was a paradise compared to Tuchanka, but the inhabitants left much to be desired.
The quarians relied far too much on technology and their physical stature reflected that. One could take their strongest warrior and pit them against the youngest splitplate the Uerthe clan had, and the splitplate would win every single time. But, they were a keen and very intelligent race.
The clan leader could see the technological usefulness within the quarians, along with the sheer size of their fleet, they could prove useful to many.
Slowly leaning back, the krogan questioned in a low tone, "So, tell me then, Ryker…Where do the krogan feature in all of this?"
"This is an outrage!"
"Admiral Azzereth you will show respect to the Grand Admiral!" Admiral Zinnesh'Ull hissed, taking a step towards the woman.
Norta'Azzereth ignored him. She didn't care about respect for rank and titles, all that mattered was the safety of the fleet. Every cell in her body boiled with rage, and Keelah be damned she wasn't going to get her word in.
The Grand Admiral stood silently before the woman, eyes locked onto hers. Here within the private admiralty chambers aboard the Rayya, there were no watchful eyes to temper the fiery quarian, no citizens of the Migrant Fleet to upset with her venomous words. Everyone in this room were equals, no one greater than the other.
"How can we possibly just open up our peoples' fleet to these apes!" Norta shouted, easily moving past Zinnesh. "Grand Admiral, do you know what they are capable of? Whatever notions that 'Ryker' gave you are false."
Staying silent, the silver eyes from the Grand Admiral watched the woman carefully.
"Whatever he said, he was lying. Mankind is no more brutal a species than the yahg or krogan." Her voice began to crack, hoarse from her constant flow of bellowing.
Karlan, who had been watching from the farthest corner of the room with Tmali, grit his teeth. He didn't like the Grand Admiral's decision much either. None of the lower officers did.
Effective immediately, all human Alliance vessels and personal are to be treated as if they were Migrant Fleet ships and citizens, at least to a certain point. If the Alliance requested aid, whether humanitarian or military, the quarians would assess the situation and provide as the Admiralty saw fit.
"Tell me, then." The Grand Admiral spoke, tone even. "Why do you despise humanity so much?"
Norta was taken aback slightly by the inquiry. The woman honestly didn't expect a response of any kind from her superior. Gathering herself, Norta spoke carefully, "During my Pilgrimage, I found work with a turian military unit during the First Contact War. I was assigned to a mechanized brigade whose job it was to provide support and repair for an armored division stationed on the human colony world of Kishinev."
"Kishinev?" Karlan whispered. "You mean the K-"
"Yes, I do. 'The Killing Fields on Kishinev'." Norta stated with her sharp tongue. "As I said, I was assigned to help out with repairs, since my suit prevented me from getting near the front lines. Relatively, we were distant from the front lines, at least several hundred kilos between us and the trenches. At least, that's what the Hierarchy claimed when the offered me the job. That all changed a month after I hit groundside." She wrapped her arms around herself, the wall of fire that seemed to define her began to snuff itself out. "It was early morning, I was fixing a tank that limped itself all the way to us from the trenches. I was the only one awake at such an hour, to early for even turians."
Everyone may have known the story of Kishinev, but no one, not even Karlan, knew that Norta was there.
"The humans struck fast and in large numbers, not allowing the turian soldiers to react. They struck the forward warning and alarm hubs first, cutting off a substantial portion of the rear lines from the rest of the world. Marines dragged the turians out of there barracks at gunpoint, then rounded up the doctors and wounded as well. I tried hiding in the same tank I was fixing, but they eventually found me."
She then told them they were all forced to march several miles south, until they came upon these jade green fields. The humans forced the wounded into the center of the field first.
"A group of rifleman took aim for the wounded that could stand. One human, an officer, taunted them saying that 'if they stopped bleeding' they'd let them live. The others laughed. And then…they fired. All of this while in front of me and the captive turians. Then they'd take a group of turians, usually five or six at a time and shoot them. One at a time. If they tried to run, the humans would laugh and just wait until he almost got to the tree line and then have a sniper pick him off."
This went on for hours, dragged out specifically for the psychological torture, right before their execution. Everyone knew the statistics. Well over several hundred turians were executed as official prisoners of war.
"The human general, who approved of all this, deemed that I was a 'civilian contractor' and would not have to suffer the same fate as the others." Norta shakily explained, hot tears dripping down her cheeks. "I saw people I've gotten to know, one I came to love, all murdered. And they enjoyed it. You could see it in their eyes, like starved varren getting meat for the first time. They reveled in the dark blood that soiled their weapons and armor…" Her voice became a ghostly whisper, "How can we forge an alliance, knowing that…"
Several moments had passed in utter silence, save for the din created from the ship running. No one within the tiny chamber would speak, nor could they.
Finally, after what felt like eons of silence, the Grand Admiral approached Norta and embraced her. The grief-stricken woman clung to her superior, only to hear her fellow quarian whisper to her, "I'm so sorry, Norta. I'm so sorry…" The Grand Admiral released the woman and marched to the center of the chamber, "Despite Admiral Azzereth's arguments, it is my sole duty to make the final decision on what course our people shall take."
The Grand Admiral's eyes fell to the floor.
"Not only for the benefit of the current generation of quarians, but for the future generations as well." The quarian sighed, muscles beginning to tremble, "The quarian fleet will assist the Alliance Navy in an upcoming operation to take control of the Citadel from the Council races."
Four pair of silver eyes found the Grand Admiral in shock and confusion.
All the Grand Admiral could do, was keep both eyes locked on the floor.
Keelah, please forgive me.
That took MUCH longer than it should have, and for that you have my deepest apologies. You guys are awesome though.
Peace.