Interlude - Encounters of the explosive kind
Unidentified research facility, Binthu, Yangtze system
Nihlus Kryik frowned in concentration as his omnitool worked on decrypting and opening the gate to the building. He was not sure what they would find inside but considering how hard it was to locate the site and the rather unfriendly welcome of the remote-controlled turrets, he doubted it would be pleasant. Still, between himself and Tela, he was fairly sure they could take on the whole base without undue problems. Just for safety, he sent off a quick status report to Bau and programmed his ship to prepare for a bombardment in five hours if neither him nor Tela signalled anything back. And as a precaution, he routed extra power from his suit's power pack to the comm device to punch through the jamming if he needed to call the ship in.
The light of the access panel blinked green, and the two Spectres shared a small smirk - then the lithe asari vanished inside, seemingly melding with the shadows within. Nihlus followed cautiously, senses and sensors tracking for any anomaly, any sign of opposition. The racket the turrets made had to have alerted any alive personnel present on the base, and he forced himself to focus even more than usual on the surroundings - though that had the (unfortunate) side effect of being even more aware of the way Tela moved, the sinuous, fluid grace still captivating after years of working together. A quick shake of his head to clear his thoughts - just in time to catch the glimpse on his suit sensors. With a comm click, he alerted his partner, sending the scant targeting data to Tela's visor.
The asari disappeared behind a bulkhead, even though Nihlus could have sworn the space was not enough for hiding even an assault rifle. A scant few seconds later, a trio of armored humans turned into the corridor, rifles in hand but obviously not really expecting anything like the armored turian; who flared his jump pack and leapt at them. A swift blow killed broke the neck of one who survived his landing, and before he could deal with the third, a glowing fist crashed into the mercenary's face with a sickening, fatal crunch as Tela loomed from the shadows.
A quick search of the corpses did yield precious little results - the omnitools were encrypted, and neither of the Spectres wanted to spend time decrypting those here, since the patrol likely had to check in periodically. The equipment was of rather better quality than even the Blue Suns issued to its regulars, and the double hexagonal insignia seemed familiar for some reason. Nihlus dismissed that faint nagging feeling, he would have time to consider that later, once they cleaned out the installation. With a courteous gesture towards his companion, the duo headed into the depths of the building, searching for clues, terminals, squeezable personnel.
The relative silence and peace does not last long, and Nihlus can't recollect whether he or Tela missed something with the third patrol. It is moot, at any rate - one of the mercenaries was able to get a burst off from his rifle, and that, naturally, set all alarms in the base howling. The two Spectres looked at each other for a second, the asari shrugged before smirking, as she vanished with the boom of displaced air, using her biotics to charge ahead, obliterating all who sought to bar her way. Nihlus shook his head before following her, brief bursts from his jetpack lengthening his stride, allowing him to keep up somewhat with Tela's speed.
The defenders, once aware of the intruders, were quite skilled and well-armed; the turian suspected that even a Blackwatch or STG team may have had difficulties overcoming them without casualties. Against two Spectres though? Precious little chance. Sure, both he and Tela got hit and bled for it when concentrated fire or lucky sniper shots overwhelmed their shields and barriers before recharging - but neither of them were seriously hurt by the time they hunted down the last guardians of the facility. Their true problems started just after that.
Already during the cleansing they encountered evidence for rather sickening experiments - who in his right mind would attempt to crossbreed humans and rachni, of all things? Deliberately infecting sentients with Thorian spores, to create Creepers? Testing biological reagents deliberately tailored against various races, including humans? Ritualistic evisceration and murder? Despite all he has seen in his career as a Spectre, Nihlus could not fully distance himself from the disturbing imagery and scenes - and Tela's barely-restrained fury certainly did not help.
Their focus almost completely devoted to the troubling data and grim implications of just what exactly certain parts of the Alliance government have been doing, neither of the two Spectres noticed the reactor status update in time. Though in fairness, that could also have been caused by a rather zealous, skilled, and quick Cerberus technician, who used his last few moments to initiate a failure of containment in the reactor, and disabled the relevant alarms, feedback, and control options - just before an elegant, custom shotgun of asari manufacture splattered his upper body all over the workstation. Even so, had Nihlus not been wearing his repaired armor, or if he had scrubbed the monitoring subroutines emplaced before he went off with the Normandy, neither he nor Tela would have stood a chance.
A red indicator blinked in existence at the corner of the turian's vision, and he blink-clicked it to display the details - and Tela's instincts immediately went into full combat mode, seeing her partner pale behind his faceplate.
"Tela, we are leaving, now - just grab what we have, forget the datamining!" His fingers flew over his omnitool, sending frantic commands to their ship. "No time to explain now, just run!"
His fingers latched on her wrist, and he flared his jump pack, pushing the machine to its limits as they zoomed along the twisting maze of corridors, racing for the surface, his HUD still displaying an energy signature that has haunted all turians since they encountered it on Shanxi. The signs of a Yutani-Yi reactor going critical, discarding its restraints.
Despite being in an enclosed space, both could feel a slight wind, tainted with something foul; faint sounds wormed their way into their ears, their souls. The jump pack sputtered and died in a crackle of electricity as its system could not tolerate the sustained load. Before Nihlus could even start cursing, Tela grabbed his wrist, and his world became a blue-white tunnel of light as they erupted to the surface of Binthu, the asari's face a mask of blood and sweat, and she swayed, almost fainting from overexertion. He pulled her along, racing, stumbling for their approaching ship, its ramp already open, yet Nihlus knew they were anything but safe yet. Dropping his companion into a seat, he raced to the cockpit, and gunned the engines, the ship shooting straight out the atmosphere of the doomed planet - and the turian Spectre's last view of the research facility was a mass of black-green slime flowing over everything like a blasphemous tide, glaring at him from uncountable, baleful eyes and the mocking, hateful cry of "Tekeli-li!" ringing in his ears.
Vancouver, Terra
The small temple was not often host to such a sizable congregation - understandable, as the adherents of this particular branch of faith were straining the official Alliance policy about religious freedom and ethics. Still, none of the people present thought for a moment that what they did, what they believed in was in any way detrimental to the cause of Humanity. After all, every member present pledged life, soul, and sanity to ensure that their kind would not be swept aside by the uncaring, pitiless Universe - and that they would use any and all means necessary to achieve that noble goal. Sure, their contemporaries might label them as insane zealots, irresponsible revolutionaries or plain madmen, but the generations following them would realize the enormous sacrifice.
The members of the congregation would follow in the footsteps of their famous predecessors like Dr. Ambrose Dexter or General J. F. C. Fuller - never working for recognition, never craving fame, but always, always keeping the betterment of Mankind as their main goal. And unlike the mostly technocratic leadership of the current Alliance, they recognized that sometimes more esoteric methods and threats were also to be factored in. Sure, there were official steps in this direction as well, and that was good - the University of Kathmandu, and the N7∆ were both worthwhile and effective, but both of those were young and inexperienced.
Their own congregation was anything but - they have existed for over three centuries, and their sources of intelligence stretched back much, much farther than that paltry amount of years. For them, time or space was a rather small obstacle when attempting to gain information. Still, they were not perfect - while their sources always provided pertinent data, it was exceedingly hard to interpret, as mostly it was obfuscated behind a veil of allegories, symbols, and metaphors.
Even so, there were occasions when the congregation received unquestionable information - and in such cases, they gladly paid the price. What did a dozen lives matter, when the Fate of all Humanity hung in the balance? Any of them would volunteer to act as a sacrifice, and in fact, half of the barely-alive husks writhing on the cold floor were former members of the faith. The other six, well, there were always parts of humanity that did not deserve any further chance - and with the proper connections, it was not too difficult to get access to the penal facilities.
The chanting rose and fell, as the blood of the sacrifices slowly filled up the grooves of the ritual circle, and a faint, cold blue radiance shimmered into existence, etching lines of light into the blood-tainted darkness of the chamber. In the center of the arcane web of symbols, a many-faceted gemstone started to pulse with the heartbeat of a galaxy slowly awakening. Within the shadowy depths of the curiously alight facets, images swirled in a never-ending dance of space-time. The members of the circle closed and averted their gazes as they chanted, only the leader of the group, the designated successor of the old knowledge peered deep into the kaleidoscope of impressions, as was his right and sacred duty, handed down from his distant ancestor.
The images flickering in the now-shining cosmic gemstone flashed rapidly past the eyes of the watcher, yet he knew they would haunt him in the darkness of night and void alike. A lesser man's sanity would crack from that thought alone, yet he persevered, bending his formidable will to the task of directing, influencing the dreamlike vistas. A vast, ebony metal hand stretched down from the sky, death and destruction raining from its fingertips; then the image zoomed out, and more of the selfsame hands could be seen, reaching down to immolate and consume all life in their unending hunger. A glorious vision of a laurel-wreathed Imperator, his eyes cold and merciless, an endless rain of blood cascading from his hands and heart. Impossible, huge shapes moving in the dark depths of an ocean, vengeance, malice and fear gripping their thought patterns. A dark, unreal city of angles and shadows, of patient malice, filled with inhuman creatures with dreams soaked in death and ruin. The starless night of the Outer Void, radiating endless, uncaring, selfish hunger, ever stirring closer to awakening. Again and again, the hands of metal returned, burning, killing, absorbing all in their path, turning verdant worlds into lifeless husks.
The chanting slowed, as the last gasp of the desperately struggling sacrificial member finally died away, the radiance slowly dimmed along with the light flickering within the facets of the ancient crystal. The leader tottered a few steps back, breathing hard, fighting against the nausea and terror creeping into his guts and soul. Sure, the visions were not always easy to interpret, but this time, he thought that the undertones of menace and warning were quite clear in their own right.
Turning towards the members of his congregation, General Ungern-Sternberg starts issuing commands. The horrors of malevolent dreams will not end Humanity - not in his life, not on his watch. Not if he has to sacrifice half of humanity to save the others. He and his people will protect Mankind - by any and all means necessary.
?, ?
The sun feels warm on his skin, the gentle lapping of the blue waves is soothing for his nerves - for the first few moments, he allows himself to luxuriate in the relaxing atmosphere; it has been so long since he could just lay back and enjoy something like this. Images, memories skitter in his mind, and his muscles and limbs burn with the exertion of rowing for hours under the selfsame Aegean sky. With a sigh, he opens his eyes, and turns towards his host, the other seemingly materializing from thin air.
A single look at the other's face, and he's tensing up in wariness and surprise - there is pain, sure, he expected that after all these years; but there is something more. Something deeper, darker. More clandestine.
With a deliberate effort, he calms himself. He knows the other would not be here unless there was a rather serious reason for it. Thus, he composes himself, and waits, only acknowledging his host with a deep, respectful nod.
"I am sorry, my friend." He feels his jaw hanging open at the tone of the usually resonant, mellifluous baritone; the deep sadness, the hurt, the betrayal. "I am afraid I might have to break the promise I made so long ago on the shores of a certain island."
He closes his eyes, exhales softly, then he nods.
"I suppose I am not surprised - I may have retired a while ago" the smile his host flashes at that is a wan, pale thing "but my clearances still work. I do have some ideas about how large the problem is, especially after Feros and Noveria."
His host nods, eyes dark with terrible foresight.
"It is even worse than I originally thought - we don't have centuries, we are lucky if we get years. I know you already did much, much more than could be asked of anyone, and I do remember I promised you as many normal lives as you care to live, my friend, but I am afraid this time, your direct involvement would be very helpful."
He can't help himself, and barks a short, surprised laugh.
"Me, help you? Old friend, you do remember that I am nothing special, right? Even that girl you found about two-three hundred years ago, what's her name, Alivia - even she's more powerful than me. What could I possibly do that you two can't?"
"Don't sell yourself short, my friend." The tone is gently chiding. "You are vastly more skilled and experienced than you give yourself credit for."
"Still, my question stands. How could I help, when you already have so much pull with the Alliance nowadays?" He notes how his host's face contorts into a small grimace, and braces himself for the inevitable comeback.
"I need your help in locating someone - or perhaps I should say something that can give Humanity an advantage in surviving the coming storm." His host looked down, before raising his head again, the golden eyes boring into his own gaze. "We both know that I could do it without your help in time, but that is the only commodity we do not have at this point." A brief, dark chuckle. "I suppose that's rather ironic, for people like us."
He furrows his brow in thought for a few short seconds, considering. In the end, he nods - and realizes that there never was a chance of him doing anything else. Not this time. Not when his old friend needed help; not when humanity needed help.
With a sigh, he reached out, and shook Professor Munir Yildirim's hand.
And then, Major Olof Pieterzoon awoke, his hand reaching out to find the ancient, intricate skull-shaped compass.