A/N:
Operation No, Fuck You is now a go!
As usual, thanks to the Editing Gang for their efforts, corrections, clarifications and fixes. They deserve more credit than I do.
Broken by Sirrocco just updated again! Check it out.
'A common belief is that history is written by the victors. It is, like many so-called words of wisdom, a comforting lie wrapped in a lack of discernment. You will find if you examine most conflicts that such self-delusional views of reality is why governments make the same mistakes over and over again. Asari, turian, salarian, volus - hubris is the weakness we all share, that moment of ignoring what one has overcome in favor of empty self-congratulation. '
- Benezia T'Soni, 'No Single Raindrop Blames Itself For the Flood'
Vnad Ishan looked upon the Forge, and placed his forelimbs together as he considered the current state of the Work. The ancient station shuddered as massive machines continued their endless labors. The station had many owners over the eons, all of which had eventually failed their masters - the original builders had called it the Tomorrowing House. Other curator thralls of the Ascended had called it the Unseen Tide, the Forgotten Forge, and a host of other names.
The station was now called the Silent Hive, as it teemed with masses of the Sethani, those who were once Prothean, once alive, once masters of the galaxy, and now existed somewhere between eternal slavery and genetic extinction.
The vast and cavernous structure in the middle of the Silent Hive was, in essence, a factory for the creation of Ascended war-forms. Huge arrays of flesh and metal wrapped around titanic sections of plating, while masses of the Lifeblood - the genetically recombined remains of tens of thousands of humans - circulated through sections still being assembled.
Biomechanical forges drew on streams of endless power from the massive black hole at the center of the galaxy, converting matter to energy and generating the black metal that was the carapace of all such war-forms. The material was not so much made as extruded, black smoke foaming up into strange angles and then suddenly materializing into position, slowly cooling from their creation.
Articulated arms half a kilometer long, supported by organic gantries of undying flesh and riddled with technological implants, that even Ishan could not fathom, worked tirelessly, laying out the central systems of the future Lord. Three huge cylinders that would form the backbone of the FarJump device were in the final stages of assembly, and the weapons - a single cannon for each out-thrust tentacle, and a vast chamber of iron slurry - were already constructed and awaiting implantation.
In the aspect of physical construction, the Work was ahead of schedule. But an Ascended - what the lesser races called a Reaper - was much more than mere metal. And the Forge was more than an assembly line.
In the upper parts of the Forge was the Crèche, where the mind of the future Ascended was assembled. Of the many human captives they had taken for Ascension, just over thirty thousand had been of sufficient purity for conversion into Lifeblood, but less than five thousand had the proper mental resilience and stamina to survive the Breaking. Rows of them were laid before him now, each one carefully prepared and inserted into the machine network that hung above them, a thousand gossamer strands of glistening flesh and cold metal sunk into each form. They would occasionally twitch or scream, and a few had flung themselves about to the point where bloody wounds from torn-free probes marked their skin.
Resistance was pointless, as even more sharp-tipped rods punched into their flesh to hold them still.
The Collector General walked between a row of such fortunate souls. The tops of each human skull had been carefully sheared away, exposing the brain matter, which was linked with probes and implants to bring about the first iteration of the overmind. The bodies were of less use – arms and legs had been trimmed off and sealed, and nourishment was imparted via tubes, now firmly inserted into the torso of each human. A horde of specialist Servility Devices buzzed endlessly above, tweaking chemical ratios and nutrient feeds, while other Collectors administered the data programs forced into the human brains even now.
An Ascended was no mere robot, but a vast cybernetic organism that blurred the lines between the weakness of flesh and the inflexibility of metal. The overmind of each such host was a gestalt of the race it was made from, but this gestalt could not be simply inserted as it was. The minds that comprised it had to be conditioned.
Thus, the assorted humans were being forced to deal with many things. They were being exposed to the reality of the dimensions, even as careful surgical and chemical changes to their brains were made to allow them to comprehend what they saw. Information was shoved into their fragile cortices, tens of millions of years of Ascended mindsets and thinking, washing away any frail mortality. For each second that passed in real time, those chosen for Ascendance were exposed to a year of such thinking.
The lines of mutilated, blessed humans ran inward, like the spokes of a wheel, to the Plinth. There, the keystone mind was being worked upon. The curved arms of the Core, which would be the brain of the future Lord, were partially assembled, vast computer networks linked with hyperluminal shunts and kilometers of organic circuitry. Built using simple amino acids and nanotechnology, these smart networks connected all the humans to the keystone, the mind that was deemed the strongest and most dominant and would serve as the baseline for the Lord's intellect.
The ravaged body of George Logain, once the leader of Freedom's Progress, writhed in agony in the cushioned Serenity Pod. Pale golden conductive fluids bathed the majority of his form, with only his head above the bubbling fluid, which was shot through with streaks of red tainting it. Row upon row of implanted sensors pierced his body. Heavy black cables were crammed into his spinal column, plunging his nervous system directly into the interconnected world of the Ascended. The eyes of the human were gone, removed to allow probes direct access to the visual cortex, but the mouth was contorted into a silent scream showing blood-flecked teeth, and the muscular body twitched and spasmed.
The display panels above Logain were alive with data, showing the human's mind was still – incredibly – attempting to resist. Vnad Ishan allowed himself a moment of wry admiration for the human before tapping several controls on the panel next to the pod, increasing the nervous system throughput by a factor of ten.
It risked killing the human rather than simply shattering his mind, but Ishan was not, after all, truly worried. If he died, it would only slow things down, and due to the hanar, he was inclined to slow things as much as he could without drawing the attention - or ire - of his masters.
The hanar's offer of restoration of his people, of rejuvenation of the DNA and XNA sequences that had become corrupted after millennia of cloning, had only two real requirements – an understanding of how an Ascended was created, and the delaying of any invasion by the main body of the Ascended for some time. How long 'some time' was meant to be was never specified by the hanar, only that the required delay would be measured in years, not centuries or even decades.
Of course, the Collector General knew the hanar were merely mouthpieces, much as he was but a mouthpiece to his masters. But the master of the hanar was much stronger. They answered to one of the Old Ones, the biological creators of the Ascended, who the Ascended feared and hated even to this day. There could not be more than twenty of the creatures all told, and yet the untold thousands of Ascended would not openly meet them in battle. Ishan had seen images of the last fight the Ascended had with their old creators – a single immature Old One had obliterated a dozen of the Greater Ascended and over five hundred Lessers before falling to sheer numbers.
The master of the hanar was no immature specimen, but older than the Ascended themselves. Ishan had struck the deal gladly... just as he had surrendered his people to the Ascended when their own war failed so long ago. Pragmatism did not taste good, but was always preferable to idealism and extermination, especially when taking a stand meant nothing.
He stroked his forelimbs across the control pad, adding instructions, as he considered his next move. His masters were busy with events in the Sculptor Galaxy, and inclined not to worry overmuch about the mess in this one. With the Citadel locked down and the Alpha Relay in Old One hands, that was more a factor of reality than will – it would simply take too long for the Ascended to get here via normal methods, and using the Godpower to make the trip would be a last resort, one utilized only if something truly dangerous was to arise in the galaxy.
As long as the Catalyst-Godpowermachine was trapped inside the Citadel, the natives were too busy killing each other, and the most powerful forces - the Broker Network and the hanar - were allied to the Collectors, the chance of anything going that badly was very unlikely.
The fact that the Collectors did not have a vast number of forces to work with allowed him to go as slowly as he liked. He still only had two ships of the Harvest-class – the third ship had been very nearly destroyed by Shepard in her final defiant moments. He had thirty-five Seeker-class ships, and a dozen Void-class drone carriers, but the Seekers were not even a match for some ships of the Citadel races.
The Void carriers each had over a thousand Oculus drone fighters, which could probably stand off a fair-sized fleet, but those were really designed for defending the station and various repairs and shipbuilding, not going out to abduct humans. They were currently building five more Harvest-class ships, but without access to more raw materials, that was going slowly as well.
He could divert energies from the Forge to speed up the construction of ships. In fact, he suspected his masters would order him to do so in their next communication. Thankfully, the jury-rigged nature of the Farcalling Device and the boosting systems constructed by the Shadow Broker required significant power to use and time to recharge – it would be another two solar cycles before Harbinger would demand progress.
His gaze returned to the form of Logain as it thrashed about. He adjusted his black robes, musing as his upper-limbs added muscle relaxants to the nutritional mix, when one of the Strike Overseers touched his mind.
"High One, the relay has been prepared and is charging now. The Pale Ones have been loaded and all strike teams are ready. The target world has recently been augmented with defenders, from the human government and the volus government. There is time to retarget, if you wish."
Vnad Ishan considered for long seconds, absently noting that Logain's form had stilled. "No. Proceed with the strike. Take eight of the Seekers... and two of the Void with you. Perform the Ascension Protocol as planned, but be prepared for interference."
The Strike Overseer inclined its head, four eyes altering in shape, a sign of perplexity. "That will add several days to our time for preparation. I presume you expect us to encounter heavy resistance? How do we reply to such?"
The Collector General turned to stare at the framework of the future Reaper. "A field of viend-wheat shot through with vhul worms was put to the torch to prevent the infestation from spreading, no? Remind the prey why they are prey."
The Strike Overseer placed its hands together. "We have abandoned stealth? Is this wise?"
The Collector General's mental tone was sharp, edged in red anger. "Your predecessor, who was reduced to regeneration stock for his failure, did not properly ensure Freedom's Progress left no clues. Video of the assault has been communicated to the Citadel Rulers, according to the Broker. While he is in the process of... neutralizing the issue with disinformation, the Oculi we have seeded into the galactic comms network reports that the asari and salarian military are making preparations."
The Overseer's voice questioned. "If we are already exposed, is not uncertainty better than clear understanding?"
Vnad Ishan's maw split open and twisted in amusement. "If we are already exposed, fear is better than uncertainty. Even if we have fallen... we remain Sethani. We remain the People. We do not flee, it is for others to fear and cry out to their gods in the dark."
The Strike Overseer bowed. "Your will, High One. We will be prepared in a few more days."
Dismissing the lesser from his mind-pattern, Vnad Ishan turned back to the form of Logain. "Now, let us begin." He tapped another control, and felt a warm glow of satisfaction as the shattered form in the pod screamed.
O-TWCD-O
It took the better part of three days before the medical team was satisfied with the condition of Garrus and his teammates. Most of this was spent on the recovery from cybernetic installations and in-depth nerve regeneration.
While Garrus's leg was top-quality and in no need of repair, his arm was lesser quality and basically wrecked, and the eye was definitely subpar. Miranda had thus replaced both with high-end custom cybernetics, including a direct dataport in the arm which could link him directly to his Skytalon battle-suit. They'd not been able to do much for the damage to his plates from the last hit he took, aside from corrective repairs to his neck and collar, and replacing the broken plating with silvery metal inserts. Melenis had joked that it gave him character, and Garrus's answer was wryly sarcastic.
"I needed some scars anyway... and they say females find them attractive. Mind you, those are mostly krogan females..."
Mierin's hand did not fully regenerate, so her thumb and two fingers were replaced with cybernetics, as well as her kneecap, which had been completely destroyed by a plasma bolt in the fighting. Sidonis's injuries had healed much more cleanly, and he spent most of his time fussing over his mate, until an exasperated Sedanya had thrown him out of the medical unit.
Erash had to have additional cybernetic filters installed in his flash-cloned lungs and would need more permanent work done in a few years. The nervous system damage from the infection had been fixed as well as it could be, but for the foreseeable future he was confined to a lift chair. He took the situation philosophically, pointing out to Garrus that being crippled still beat being dead.
Melenis's rash overloading of her biotics had not caused any serious damage to her nerves, and the multiple gunshot wounds in her arms and legs had healed cleanly, but she needed heavy regeneration to the gut-shot she'd taken and was still restricted to light duty. Garrus had been concerned about her, and Sedanya had laid his fears to rest, but he still looked oddly pensive at how badly she'd been wounded trying to protect him.
Krul was up and walking around, after three full days of forced regen and eating high-calorie, high content food packets. She still felt 'weak', but that was to be expected after the forced growth of an arm and leg in less than a week, in addition to the sheer amount of blood loss she'd endured. Mordin Solus took control of most of her care, showing a level of respect and deference to the female that baffled Shepard somewhat until he explained.
"Krogan females true core of species. Noble, intelligent. Emotionally mature. Most suffer from sterility, see themselves as failures. Still work hard to keep krogan race alive and stable. Krul endured more than most. Very wise. Always liked listening to old lore-songs as well."
All in all, given the level of opposition, the fact that most of them had not only survived but were not crippled for life was amazing. Given that they had all agreed to join Garrus in the fight against the Broker and eventually the Collectors, Shepard had shared some more information with them.
The revelations about the Systems Alliance and the plotting of the salarians and asari she kept quiet about, except to Garrus. There was no need for the rank and file to know everything, and she wasn't sure how well the humans would handle knowing the truth about the High Lords anyway. She wasn't even sure how she felt about the truth, aside from rage and a vast sense of disappointment in her own species.
Erash and Butler were seconded to Trudy's team, and began studying under a sneering and insulting Vigil on how to, as he put it, 'hack properly, instead of hacking as if you were swinging an axe'. Melenis was placed in medical to learn alongside Sedanya and the rest of the medical team, particularly about the advanced cybernetics and some of the needed surgical requirements of Shepard.
While Miranda and Pressly organized armor and weapons replacements, and Ezno and Taylor tested the Angels' marksmanship and biotics, Shepard was occupied with Grunt, along with Krul.
Krul had been a mix of horrified and fascinated to discover Okeer's legacy was a seemingly perfect male krogan youth. Shepard had let her listen to Okeer's final message, and her muzzle had twisted as she listened and then spat.
"Okeer, for all his wisdom and intellect, was little more than an upset child, raging that he did not get his way, Shepard. He wanted acclaim and glory, like a youngling, yet claimed himself above other krogan." She shook her head. "I worry about what his changes will mean for our people. Not having to endure stillbirth will weaken the trauma of the Genophage, and, in generations to come, make it more acceptable. "
Shepard nodded. "And the whole 'make the krogan better, faster, smarter' thing?"
Krul sighed. "Until our culture has time to fully heal, to rebuild the ranks of Loresingers and shaman seers, I do not think genetic upgrades will matter. The krogan's failure is one of viewpoint, not genetics – of priorities in what we hold valuable, not the fact that we blood rage when angry. Okeer's clan was always strange, and while they may have been acceptable to Citadel society, it was only because they vented their own rage and hate onto their own people instead of aliens."
Shepard folded her arms. "Fair enough. How does this affect Grunt?"
The female krogan had looked upon the younger krogan in amusement, watching as he dutifully read through the list of books Shepard had given him on human nature. "He is... strange. You have gifted him your clan name, which makes you his mother in our ways. He has no clan to call his own but yours, he was birthed by no krogan female and his 'father', Okeer, is dead."
Shepard arched an eyebrow. "...His mother?" Her voice had a strange, almost strained inflection to it, and Krul nodded.
"A krogan, when born, has neither clan nor krantt, what we call brothers and sisters of the soul. Blood relations matter less than you might think between siblings – rare is it that two krogan share both mother and father. More commonly, a fertile female has children by many different males."
She paused, adjusting the fit of the dark red robes that obscured her body. Unlike most female krogan she forwent the veil, as she was a Loresinger. "A krogan's father is responsible for giving the child their first weapon, for teaching them to survive, to hunt, and to kill. The mother, on the other hand, truly raises the child – to teach them to walk, to talk, and to read and write. It is the mother who shapes the future of the child, the mother to which every krogan looks for answers, for guidance of the soul when the mind fails."
Krul's hands folded below her outthrust chin, her bulbous eyes fixed on Shepard. "I am sure you meant it simply as an offhand thing, to give him a place. And yet that act – a battlemaster granting clan rights and a name to a youngling – is what separates a puling youth from a true krogan. Krogan must undergo a trial that takes them to the brink of death to be considered true adults, and cannot do so until they have a krantt."
She spread her massive hands. "That you have taken him into Clan Shepard – a clan that has spat upon death as weak, that has slain foes such as Saren and Benezia, and even toppled Okeer in single combat – a clan that has set its enemy not as mere mortals or even governments, but life-killing god abominations that have existed since krogan were little more than pond slime..."
The krogan gave a toothy grin. "Few indeed could hold a candle to that name."
Shepard shrugged. "...Great. I don't know shit about raising a krogan, Krul."
The female laughed, a surprisingly mirthful and gentle sound. "Okeer's filthy technology has done most of the less fun parts for you, human. He can walk, talk, fight, read, write, and think. Okeer has, according to Grunt, crammed his head full of the accumulated wisdom of the clans, a span of three thousand years. Given time and maturity, Grunt could become the first true Loremaster since the Rebellions."
She turned back to face Shepard. "How were you raised?"
Shepard closed her eyes, grimacing. "...Not well. I guess at one point my parents were actually decent – but they got strung out on drugs and sold me for cash. I was used... badly... ended up in gangs and nearly killed."
Krul nodded. "A good beginning, then."
Shepard looked at her incredulously. "What?"
The krogan female gave an almost human sounding sigh. "Human, tribulation and suffering are the gods' forge for our souls. There is a krogan saying - 'muscle only grows when torn'. A being with no suffering and no trauma cannot grow, they cannot contrast ill times with happy ones, nor true evil from good. If you had not suffered as you had, could you have endured what you have?"
Shepard wanted to protest, but stopped and thought about the words for long seconds. "I... don't know. Maybe the Beacon I found on Eden Prime would have killed me if my mind wasn't so fucked up. Or made me crazy, like the scientist who used it before I did." She frowned. "That doesn't mean it was something that I – or anyone else – should have had to go through."
Krul nodded. "I agree. And yet, I would point out that 'should have been' is mere fantasy. The universe is not a vile place by design, nor is it destiny that all things suffer. Much is to be laid at the feet of those in power who cling to such, or those without power who crave it regardless of the cost."
She gestured to Grunt. "But for him, whose only life experiences will come at your feet, the suffering you have gone through will give you the strength he needs. Many krogan will not accept something that comes from a... science experiment. Many more will suggest anything of Okeer's should be burned with plasma fire for the safety of the krogan species, given what his last experiment with krogan genetics inflicted upon us."
Krul's voice softened. "Do not discount your suffering, for he will suffer as well. Use how you survived to find lessons for him to adhere to. If you truly believe no one should suffer as you have, then teach him the value of mercy, of love, even of despair instead of glory in valor and endless bloodshed."
Shepard's voice was bitter. "Not sure I can teach him much about love, given what I've lost."
Krul's hand landed on her shoulder. "And yet the memory of it remains. The touch upon your soul has not faded. I never met Liara T'Soni, never saw her save on vidcast. Yet is it not true that she still is within you?"
Shepard swallowed, glancing down. "It's hard to say any longer. I just feel empty."
Krul nodded. "Then it is your duty to refill yourself. You are not the only person who has lost all they have, nor are you the only person that fate has treated cruelly and unfairly. But you are the only person who has truly defeated death."
She stood, towering over Shepard. "It takes no wisdom to see that you and your choices will save or damn us all, human. And you are not alone. You thought Garrus was dead, and now you are united once more. Rekindle the fire of your soul, and instead of mere revenge, make the suffering you have endured matter."
Shepard glanced up at the alien female. "...Easier said than done."
Krul gestured to Grunt. "Not at all. Simply pour yourself into the love of another. Grunt does not realize it yet, but he will emulate and follow you by instinct. If he is presented with a cold, shattered figure too busy with bloodshed, revenge, and sorrow to live, then he will be little more than a weapon."
The krogan's eyes fixed on her. "Even if he is not the child of your body, is that really what you want the child of your soul to grow up being? A thing that only fights because fighting is all it knows, and to stop fighting is to stop living?"
Shepard was silent as Krul left the room, only being broken from her thoughts by Grunt. "Shepard. These books are... strange."
She forced herself to pay attention. "Strange how, Grunt?"
The krogan youth's expression turned into a frown, and his eyes narrowed. "Humans are incredibly weak, and yet they can endure things that would break a krogan. Okeer thought your people weak and untested, but the end of the First Contact War would have meant slavery or extermination for all of you. Just like the krogan. Except we had no asari to save my people."
Shepard shook her head. "Humans are a mixed lot, Grunt. Some of us are assholes, some are saints. Some won't break no matter what you put them through – others who look tough are weak-ass failures destined to die in a pool of their own blood and probably blaming others for it."
Grunt's expression did not clear. "Then this... Hegel... what is he saying? That who you are isn't up to anything but you?"
Shepard laughed, he would pick the one philosopher she bothered to read.
She'd given him a reading list of books she liked, and some ones on human behavior and history, so he could fit in a little better. He'd added some of his own choices that surprised her with their nature, such as Hemingway and Frazier, but he'd also clearly looked at some of her own non-reference choices.
She also found it interesting that he searched the extranet for surprisingly mature things. He didn't seemingly care about krogan porn, or amusement/entertainment sites, mostly examining historical records.
She pinched the bridge of her nose. "Hegel is saying that we label things, and we get caught up in those labels instead of seeing the reality behind them." She paused. "I had a hard time understanding why people... acted in certain ways when I was younger. I wanted things to fit particular patterns, and they never did. I wanted things to be rational and they were always irrational."
She folded her arms. "It took me a long time to realize that we get sidelined in trying to find patterns where nothing exists. It's just words; words we apply to concepts and then expect those simple labels to somehow encompass the entire concept."
The krogan looked at her doubtfully, and she smiled wider. "Take for instance krogan charging. Why do krogan do it?"
Grunt frowned. "Glory is to be found in battle. Warlord Vhruug claimed that to hide from weak races was dishonorable."
She snorted. "And yet, charging doesn't work very well in a lot of cases." She paused, laughing at her own ironic statement, then continued. "Charging enemy lines came from a time when the krogan outnumbered everyone, and there were too many to kill, even en masse, when charging. Somehow that got equated to honor, and now that there's a whole lot less of you, krogan keep doing the same thing."
She let him think that through before continuing. "Everything has a starting condition, and eventually runs into something that invalidates that condition before either getting destroyed, destroying the conflicting element, or merging the two. Arguments, war, and weapons designs all follow that pattern. You can't simply look at situations at face value because 'face value' is a code we – intelligent beings – use to summarize something very big, most times."
Grunt rubbed his muzzle. "But what good is it?"
She shrugged. "It makes you think. It makes you question if you are doing something because it is rational or just assuming things – and assumption is the mother of all fuckups." She smiled. "Which is one of the Rules of Not Dying Horribly."
The youth gave an amused snort. "The Rules of Not Dying Horribly?"
She grinned. "Yep. Rule number one. Always check the body. Rule number two—" She stopped as the comms alert went off on her omni-tool, frowning.
"Shepard here."
The voice of Trudy Menrows in Ops was brisk. "Incoming QEC comms from the Horizon detection drone, ma'am. Confirmed Prothean jump-drive traces, and an anomalous relay activation two minutes ago."
She tapped her comm-link. "Pressly! Time for immediate launch of the Normandy and ETA to Horizon at full rated speed?"
Pressly took a second to respond, while Shepard was already moving at a dead run toward the elevators. "Fifteen minutes to prep the core, probably another thirty to get undocked and moving. One hour six minutes to the relay. We're lucky it was Horizon – the rest would take three hours. The Horizon relay links directly to the one in Anthus."
Shepard nodded, slapping the elevator control panel to open the car. "Get people moving. Have Miranda confirm QEC signal with TIM. Vigil!"
The voice of the machine sounded. "It is time, then?"
"Get the ships you control moving, at least the frigates and destroyers. Leave the cruisers and carrier with the Normandy for now. Any of those ships have human crews or captains yet?"
"Not yet, primitive. Only the bigger ships. Captain Taylor is currently commanding the carrier; most human crews are on the cruisers."
She came out on the habitation deck, headed for her quarters. "Get 'em moving, and get everyone else going. We don't have much time. I hope the idea you and Mordin came up with to deal with the swarm things works, or this is going to be a short fight."
O-TWCD-O
Delacor sighed, glancing around the lavish and spacious meeting room of the Horizon Chamber, and once again he wondered why in the hell Udina had sent him and not some politico to deal with this mess. Someone like Anderson, or even Branson. Delacor had a natural tendency to defer to authority rather than buck it, and it was hard going against his own habits even as Spectre.
Especially when he distrusted the very idea of 'unlimited Spectre authority'.
The trip to Horizon had gone well enough, and in a spot of luck they arrived to see Horizon defense forces fighting off a pirate raid. Battle Group Chiron had cut the pirates to pieces, saving a pair of damaged bulk freighters from being taken as prizes, and that had somewhat smoothed the normal rudeness Horizoners usually expressed when dealing with the Systems Alliance.
Despite being a Systems Alliance officer and commanding a Systems Alliance battle group, Delacor had framed his mission as being a Spectre operation. The Horizon Chamber, the leadership of the largest and oldest of the wildcat colonies, had been truculent at first, but once he'd made clear the fact that they were here to actually help and not just posture, most of the anti-SA rancor had fallen to one side.
The VDF ships had arrived the next day, and some five hundred volus engineers (with a handful of quarians) had set up shop near the capital of Horizon, amusingly named Crash Landing. Horizon was not a well-settled world – despite the fact it had almost two million inhabitants, there were only four major centers of settlement.
This allowed the VDF to focus building defense networks near the cities, instead of having to cover an entire planet. They'd brought GARDIAN towers - big, heavy, petawatt band x-ray burst channel guns, top of the line and straight from salarian R&D - and some city-scale shielding generators. Of course volus being volus meant they also brought a mess of GTS defense trucks and enough missiles and torpedoes to blow up a small moon.
They even had nine crates full of LOKI mechs, the infantry version, along with preprogrammed instruction sets, equipped with shotguns and a mix of heavy weapons.
Delacor, in dealing with the volus, had done what he could. He showed them, alongside the Horizon Chamber, the video from Freedom's Progress and the report the quarians had given on the hacks done to the colony. The VDF had made very sure to remove wireless capability from the war robots, and the GARDIAN towers and GTS trucks would require manual operation. Horizoners were even now being trained on those.
The smooth reception had only gone so far before, of course, something went wrong. The only time his luck was good was just before it turned really bad.
The first problem was the GARDIAN towers themselves. The VDF had set up three towers around each of the four cities. But running them manually, without VI support, meant targeting adjustments had to be done manually and that could only be accomplished by live fire against a moving target. The Kazan had thus been busy swooping around while gunners on the ground took very low-power potshots at it.
Of course, a low-power GARDIAN laser hit was still a hit, and lasers didn't care about kinetic shields. The engineers were upset at having to go EVA and perform minor armor repairs every day, and the pilots were jittery from dodging GARDIAN strikes and having to fly a cruiser in atmosphere. It didn't help that the GARDIAN towers had settings useful to the volus, who lived on planets with a much different atmosphere index than Horizon. Laser settings had to be completely redone from scratch.
Lieutenants Cole and Williams had gone down to the planet to work with the Horizon militia, such as it was. The primary defense force of the planet was a reinforced regimental combat unit, roughly a thousand strong, from the Blue Suns Citadel Division. Comprised almost entirely of asari, the unit was well-equipped, but had not seen a lot of heavy combat – mostly the occasional pirate raid. The asari in the unit were clearly more interested in getting laid with humans than fighting – the oldest member of the band aside from the leader was barely one hundred and sixty, and the unit as a whole was led by a matron, not a matriarch.
The militia, roughly ten thousand strong, was a heavily mixed bag. Each militiaman or militiawoman had their own armor and weapons, while the colony paid for kinetic shields and omni-tools. Williams focused on training a more experienced subset of the militia in heavier weapons, while Cole and his sergeants did basic drills and practice battles.
The problem with all this was that the Blue Suns didn't like having two Systems Alliance companies on the planet, as their contract stated they would be the only defensive force aside from the militia. The matron in charge, Vasia Sederis, was one of the many, many daughters of the Eclipse crazy woman Jona Sederis, and while she'd gotten out of Eclipse (for reasons that had accompanied a thousand rumors of varying credibility), she still appeared to inherit her mother's lack of mental stability.
She'd demanded the Horizoners build asari-style hab units, that the colony pay software and engineering costs, and that they wouldn't hire any other mercenary force. And when she'd learned the SA forces were arriving, she'd thrown a fit, demanding a higher pay schedule from the colony as well as assurances from the Horizon Chamber that Blue Suns 'interests' on the planet wouldn't be compromised.
Those 'interests' turned out to be a light mech factory and what looked, to Delacor's admittedly untrained eye, like a red sand processing facility. They were also in possession of a large cargo yard full of unmarked shielded containers, which was most likely unregistered eezo or something even more illegal in Citadel Space.
Rather than get into a pissing contest over it, Delacor simply instructed his people to stay away from the fourth city near the Blue Suns, and told the Blue Suns CO that he was only going to be here until VDF forces showed up to relieve him – and that, frankly, he had better ways to waste his time than going after her people.
Now, six days into the debacle, he stood in the Horizon Chamber, listening to them rant on about 'Systems Alliance spies'. Apparently, one of Cole's patrols had discovered someone sneaking around near the ad hoc GARDIAN control center the volus had set up. A firefight had broken out and two of his men were dead, along with six dead humans.
Running their ID cards and names had come up blank in the SA and Citadel databases, but DNA sampling had four hits, all known members of the terrorist group known as the Hand of Hades. Delacor was familiar with the group's rhetoric, but, having access to Spectre intelligence, he also knew a lot more about it than most people.
Unlike Cerberus, Hades didn't give a shit about doing things on multiple levels – political, economic, scientific and military. They were strictly criminals in his opinion, involved in slavery, drug running, and open terrorism against any and all alien investment. The only aliens they didn't harass or try to kill were asari who were legal SA citizens – anything else was fair game.
Which was the core of his problem now. "Honored speakers, I understand your initiative regarding Hades. The Systems Alliance, I am sorry to say, has done a very poor job of even trying to protect outlying colonies over what I see as political issues. Hades, regardless of whatever else it has done, is about the only thing aside from the Butcher actually fighting piracy in the Traverse, and I know that's a big issue for you all. I'm certainly not going to argue with you about the choices you've made in the past – I'm a soldier, not a political figure."
He folded his arms, his cybernetic eye whirring as he looked across at the seven men and women he faced. "At the same time, Hades is a criminal organization. One that is heavily opposed to any form of alien investment or interaction with humanity. And my task is to protect the installation of defenses on your world being financed and overseen by aliens. You see that this puts me in, at best, a difficult position."
The eldest man on the Horizon Chamber Board, a wealthy industrialist named Charles Verner, nodded sourly. His wispy white hair framed a lined, almost cruel face, with thickset brows over dark eyes, a slab-like jaw, and a thick, oft broken nose. "Very pretty words, Captain. But you yourself have said your presence here is only temporary." The man fiddled with the cuffs of his dark suit, then glanced back up. "One might suggest simply turning a blind eye to events that do not concern you."
Delacor's jaw tightened. "Two of my Marines are dead. That is not exactly something that doesn't concern me."
Another speaker, a woman in her late-forties named Francene Ativa, gave a slow smile. Her heart-shaped face was framed in slightly frosted blond hair, and her pale gray eyes had a hint of mischief in them as she spoke. "While true, it is also true that six men were killed by your security forces. I, myself, do not know why Hades would take an interest in the command center, but it would certainly be better served if all parties simply de-escalated this event, no?"
Delacor wondered if this one was on the board because she slept her way there or because she was a snake. He figured both, and his answer was in a cooler tone. "My forces were not the ones who escalated, honored speaker. If I may indulge in bluntness, my orders from the Council were clear." He stressed the word, and narrowed his eyes. "And those were to prevent anything from interfering with the VDF mission and ensure the world of Horizon was safe."
He straightened. "Frankly, Hades's modus operandi sounds a lot like Cerberus used to. Sure, they blew up pirates and helped out independent colonies." He avoided the word wildcat that they so hated. "But evidence shows they also caused some of those attacks to happen, and were engaged in trying to drive wedges between independent colonies and the SA."
He took a breath. "And I think that is what is happening here. Hades can't have any good intentions towards the VDF engineers who are risking their lives to protect your world. And Hades isn't happy about volus investment – this is deliberate. As a Spectre, I don't need evidence or permission to go after them – I'm asking to be polite and to show my cooperation."
The speakers glanced at one another, before one of them spoke, an older black man with a shaven head and a long beard done in very thin dreadlocks, wearing a very expensive suit. "Be that as it may, Captain – we're disinclined to throw away ties with a group that has been extremely helpful thus far. The volus aren't making this effort out of the goodness of their hearts. They want to absorb human colonies to get humans to act as officers for those vorcha thugs they've incorporated into their armed forces, so they don't have to fight themselves."
The speaker glanced around the room. "Some of us have agreed to this, and some of us haven't. Frankly, I think Hades is exactly right about the situation, the fact that at least you aren't full of shit about the SA's response notwithstanding. The fact remains that you yourself said you aren't even here on the SA's dime, but as a Spectre. And I suspect that's only because the volus paid someone off. Am I wrong?"
Delacor gritted his teeth. "I fail to see what bearing that has on you providing information on criminals so they can be apprehended."
The man leaned back. "Son, let me share a piece of wisdom with you. You can measure a man by when he chooses to stand with you. Hades has been out here for the past two years, helping with supplies, fighting pirates, keeping the goddamned comm lanes open, and making sure some pack of fucking batarians didn't show up and enslave us all."
The speaker folded his arms. "I'm sure they have their motives, just like the volus have theirs. Difference is, you and the volus wouldn't even be here if the situation hadn't gone bad. You've told us yourself that these Collectors aren't something you can go after and shut down – because the politics are wrong. Because aliens don't want to start a war with that bitch Aria just to save a few million measly humans."
Delacor sighed. "That is an extreme oversimplification."
Another speaker, a younger man with fiery red hair and a long horseshoe mustache, snorted. "I would say Eamon has a very good point. Hades, for good or ill, has been helping us for some time. We let them know about the volus's plans, and we don't know what would have happened, because your men decided to shoot them." He scowled. "You claimed you are here to help – then do so. Train our people, have the volus set up their defenses – then go. We haven't decided yet on whether to accept the volus offer, and until we do we're not burning any bridges."
Delacor gave an amused chuckle.
Verner frowned. "Something funny, Captain?"
Delacor nodded. "My Spectre partner, Tela Vasir, told me once that no one actually respects being treated respectfully. I can see she was right. Perhaps I was unclear, Speakers." His voice hardened. "You can give what you know about Hades on this world, or I can simply find out myself. The Council isn't going to care what I do all the way out here, outside of Council Space. The SA doesn't even give a shit. And I really doubt your Blue Suns mercs are going to risk fighting my men to protect a group that wants them all dead."
Delacor was about to speak again when his comm-link rang, illuminated in red for urgent. He tapped it. "Delacor here."
The voice of his XO, Lieutenant Commander Marie Durand, sounded worried. "Very sorry to disturb you, sir. Frigate Luchang reported unusual activity at the mass relay. We're not sure what it is, sensors are clean except for some exotic particle traces, but you said comm you if anything—"
His eyes widened as he slapped his emergency command band, interrupting her. "All units! Set defensive pattern BLAZING SHIELD. All ground forces, defend GARDIAN centers. Spin up all weapons. All ships, set condition Two-SQ, maximum battle alert. Williams, get those damned Blue Suns to defense positions and then fall back with Charlie and Delta to the Horizon Chamber. Li An, get the shuttle here pronto."
He turned to the Horizoners. "I have to get back to my ship. Lieutenant Williams will brief you. We have incoming."
Verner's eyes widened. "You mean—"
Delacor was moving to leave, but spoke over his shoulder. "The last thing the sensors of the Normandy reported before being blown out of the sky – exotic particle traces."
O-TWCD-O
Ashley Williams cursed soundly, keeping close to the cover of the low retaining walls around the GARDIAN ops center. Chaos reigned all around them. The staccato sounds of Marines laying down fields of fire echoed weirdly across the wide plaza, as did the screams of wounded and dying people. Green blasts and lances of pale yellow death raked their answering fire across makeshift barricades and cover surrounding the towering ops center, and more screaming and cursing told her they'd hit something.
She could hear the comm chatter from the battle group's relay circuit on her omni-tool, and it wasn't looking good for Team Blue. Chiron was having its ass handed to it by the bugs. Two frigates had simply been blown to pieces, a third had kamikazed, and one destroyer was breaking up in atmosphere even now, chunks of burning wreckage leaving bright, ugly trails of fire across the sky.
Horizon was under heavy attack by the Collectors, and the situation had gone completely to shit.
Based on the video footage of the attack on Freedom's Progress, Commissar Jiong had speculated that kinetic barrier fields and biotic barriers might keep the flying insect looking things away. Given that Horizon's native asari population was less than thirty, it fell to the Blue Suns force to provide any biotic defense.
Despite the tension between the Marines and the Blue Suns, the Blue Suns CO had agreed with Jiong's theory, and thus split about a third of her force into small squads that were set up around the city evac centers, while the rest were dug in around the control centers for the GTS defenses.
The Collector attack had come out of nowhere – one second, she was training civvies on how to use C-404 MDRs, a light civil defense rifle made by the turians that could go from rifle to shotgun with the flip of a switch. The next, one of Chiron's frigates was just gone, and Delacor had gone off screaming orders on the omni-tool.
It had taken the Collectors a bit of time to even get moving - they appeared surprised by the level of resistance waiting for them. Delacor had used that time to blast out the highest powered distress signal he could using Spectre codes, but wasn't sure it got out - the first action the bugs did was sweep out and blast the FTL comm buoy network to bits.
Battle Group Chiron had managed to stand off the smaller collector ships, and had the big one at least temporarily immobilized with missile and torpedo strikes against the engines, while on the planet below, the militia and Blue Suns struggled to get civilians into the armored, sealed shelters that would hopefully protect them. Williams wasn't real hopeful on that score, given what the Collectors had done to Freedom's Progress, but then again, there wasn't much to hack in terms of the defenses here either.
Eventually battle was joined between the Collectors and BG Chiron, and it was not a fair matchup.
The fleet had stood off the Collectors for almost an hour, with Delacor clearly trying to maneuver them away from the planet, but that had failed. Even so, Kyle torpedoes had crushed two of the smaller Collector ships, and the big carrier ship had been half-wrecked by the one frigate that had gone kamikaze, screaming defiance as they crashed into the launch deck – which, at the very least, had cut off any more of those drones from launching.
The biggest of the Collector vessels out-massed the Kazan by a good deal, and the two were now locked up in a heavy battle in orbit. The explosion of more than one Kyle torpedo had sent radiation alerts lashing across the colony's sensors, but the Kazan had taken severe damage in return.
Smaller Collector ships and hordes of automated drones had tied up the few orbital defenses of Horizon as well as the rest of Chiron, and they were slowly winning. The two remaining destroyers and trio of frigates were hitting them hard, but all of the SA ships were reporting heavy damage and running low on missiles.
As for the ground defenses, the good news was the damned endless adjustments and test firings had done some good - the guns were brutally on target and the GTS trucks saturated the sky with missiles, having blown apart one of the smaller Collector ships by themselves. The GARDIAN towers were firing at top speed, shredding the endless tide of drones that obscured the naval battle, and hammered the main Collector ship when they got a chance, which was the only reason Chiron hadn't been blown out of sky so far.
Even with all the defense systems firing and Chiron's best efforts the Collectors had gotten a few ships past Delacor. And it was obviously only a matter of time before the Kazan succumbed.
Two Collector ships had landed, disgorging swarms of flying insect things and a small army of brown-armored humanoid figures with long, curved rifles and large wings. The ground force had struck hard at the capital, and Williams had not been able to get to the government's seat of power in time – Collectors had shot their way through the Blue Suns and captured the building twenty minutes ago.
Her own force of Marines, about forty, was now dug in around the central GTS control site with about two hundred Blue Suns and a handful of militia. The Suns engineers had rigged up kinetic barrier blocks and their biotics were maintaining a huge barrier field bubble, keeping the insects at bay, but the biotics were straining to do so.
And now the Collectors were coming, firing as they came. The force under Cole was pinned down by the GTS trucks with more Blue Suns, and had taken some casualties. Williams's Marines had not taken any, yet.
She glanced up over her cover, sighted in on a Collector firing at the Suns engineers, and pulled the trigger of her sniper rifle. The powerful round blasted into the greenish barriers of the thing and knocked it over, but it was back on its feet a moment later, firing more green-tinted blasts of energy that sheared through armor like it wasn't even there.
A group of Collectors in heavy black robes was guarded behind the front ranks of the Collector soldiers, wreathed in greenish biotic light. They lashed out at the biotic barrier and it contracted, screams of pain coming from the Blue Suns maintaining it.
She fired twice more, killing another Collector, before green fire lashed at her position. She scrambled for new cover, wincing as one of the blasts vaporized a line of armor across her back, and slid behind a heavy concrete beam next to one of the Blue Suns mercs.
"What's the sitrep?"
The asari mercenary was young, with bold red marks around her eyes and lips, wearing the blue and white heavy armor of the Suns and clutching a shotgun. "Not good. Commander Sederis is at the other side, and reports they are being pressed. And our biotics..." she broke off and shook her head. "The enemy's Art is just more powerful. We won't be able to keep this barrier up forever."
Williams nodded, noting with dismay that she'd gone through two entire ammo-blocks already. "And the evac?"
The asari grimaced. "Last I heard, Vennish and That Place had both been hit hard. We managed to get about a third of the population into the evac center here and half into the center at Bad Luck. Not sure how long they'll hold out."
Williams was about to reply when Cole's voice sounded. "Kilo Mike Beta, this is Kilo Mike Alpha. GTS trucks are burning, but expended most of their ammo. We're down to seventy percent effectiveness. Commander Sederis is falling back towards you while we stick it out in this comm center with the kinetic barriers on. ETA on Sederis's group is One-Zero-Minutes, cover them. How copy?"
Williams clicked her radio. "Good copy. I'll have my people cover them. Priority should be defense of the GARDIAN controls – if those go down, battlegroup Chiron is fucked hard."
Cole chuckled. "No worries. Still, this place isn't going to hold forever. I'm moving my people into the MAKOs and getting ready to boogie if we get overrun. I'll slag the controls before I go, and hope the auto-target picks the right targets to fire at."
Williams nodded, sighting in on another Collector, and firing. She smiled when the loathsome creature collapsed. "Good idea." She frowned as more chatter came across the comm-link, Delacor's voice sounding weary and strangely soft.
"More ships incoming... signatures unknown. Brace for incoming."
Williams bit her lip, then nearly jumped out of cover when whooping cheers erupted over the comm-link. "The hell?"
Delacor's voice was laden with amusement. "I think I finally have a spot of good luck, Lieutenant. A goddamned fleet of the Butcher's ships just tore into the system and unloaded on that carrier."
Williams murmured a word of thanks to the Lord, and then wondered, as Collectors shot away her cover and sent her scrambling, if even the Butcher would be enough to save them. A memory of her squad being butchered against superior numbers on Eden Prime and again on Virmire flashed across her mind, and she set her jaw as she aimed at another Collector.
"Not this time, assholes."
O-TWCD-O
Shepard sat stiffly in the chair in the CIC, staring hard at the plot. "Pressly, ETA to the relay."
The XO walked down Ops Alley, checking over both the human and robotic operators with one eye. "Eleven minutes, ma'am. Engines are stable at one twenty-six on the core, charge is at twelve percent and building."
She glanced at the plot again, seeing the AI-controlled ships under Vigil swing into action against the Collectors. Vigil's voice was muted, shorn of his usual sarcasm. "All ships under extremely heavy cyberwarfare attack, Shepard. Most of the damage the SA fleet in system has inflicted is cosmetic except for some hits from what appear to be Kyle-class torpedoes. The Collector ships are... regenerating, slowly - some kind of memetic polyceramic mix with... resin?"
Shepard's jaw twitched. "Fucking wonderful. Comms status?"
The sphere circled the plot. "FTL buoys are down. The Collectors found six of the seven QEC retransmit drones... the one I'm using now is still safe in the asteroid belt of the system." He paused. "There is an additional carrier in the system that has not joined the fighting, Shepard, on the far side of the star."
She nodded. "How is the SA fleet doing?"
Vigil moved to hover over her shoulder, as Miranda entered the CIC, dressed in battle armor. "Not good. The Spectre has lost three of his ships, and the rest are fighting multiple hull breaches and fires. The Collector main vessel has taken multiple direct hits from the GARDIAN systems below and from torpedoes and missiles, but is only at twelve percent damage."
Miranda frowned. "It survived more than one Kyle-class hit? How strong are these ships?"
Vigil made a bobbing motion, his glow increasing slightly. "Unknown - Prothean hull materials could have resisted one or two, but not more than that. This material is anomalous and shares similarities with both Prothean metals and, oddly enough, the sort of materials used by a race extinguished by the Reapers more than half a million years ago."
Shepard willed herself to exhale normally. "Doesn't matter. Vigil, move the bulk of your ships without war robots to augment Delacor and protect his ships, and stand off the Collector... let's call it a cruiser. Heavies are to drop pod the war robots and then head back up and surround and cripple the first carrier."
She pointed to the plot. "When we hit the system, have our carrier launch to clear a path to Horizon, and detail our cruisers to finish the carrier and join the fight against the cruiser. Once Joker drops us off on Horizon, reform the battle line and finish off that cruiser before killing the other one. "
Vigil pulsed. "The Collectors have just destroyed one of our frigates with a compressed muon particle blast... a missile, not a beam. Radiation readings very high. The blast blew right past the upgraded armor and destabilized the mass core."
Shepard's eyes widened in alarm. "They did what?"
"Do not panic, primitive. I have seen this trick before. If not for all this cyber warfare they are hurling at my runtimes...adjusting pilot profiles..." The sphere flickered for several seconds, actually losing its definition before reshaping itself. "...another frigate badly damaged, but escaped being crippled. Sloppy execution."
Shepard shook her head. Just because she had top-end equipment didn't mean this would be an easy fight. "Fuck. Status on that other carrier?"
Vigil pulsed in irritation. "Unfortunately, the second carrier just went active. It is deploying drone fighters and moving at a high rate of speed to engage our ships. I also detect some kind of high-band burst transmission headed out of the system." It paused. "I am not sure if that is a call for reinforcements - if it is, we don't have much time. The relay jump trick Solus described them using takes time to prepare, but not much."
Shepard glared. "Specifics?"
Vigil gave a bobbing motion as it moved to hover again over her shoulder. "...Perhaps a few hours. Perhaps days. I have no idea what kind of energy generation equipment they have access to, primitive. I may be powerful, but I am not omnipotent."
Shepard glanced at Pressly. "Double fuck. XO, you have the deck and the conn. I'll be in the cargo bay prepping the tank. Miranda, for this fight Taylor is the BDO - I want you, Solus, Sedanya, and Melenis on hot standby in a shuttle to deal with casualties. This is going to be a fucking mess, I can just feel it."
Miranda nodded. "And the rest?"
Shepard headed for the elevator. "Aside from the change to your team, we'll go with the lineups we worked out on the way here. We may have to adjust based on what we find on the ground, but for the most part - heavy hitters with me while Tali, Jack, and Kasumi act as free response support."
Joker's voice called out. "Five minutes to relay translation. Fasten your seatbelts and fire up your cigars, this is going to be a real fun insertion."
