Author's note: I'm back. I'm basically starting from scratch because some crazy things happened over the last few years and, among other things, all of my outlines and pre-written stuff got lost. I was recently reminded that I had started this story and decided to fix a lot of stuff so certain things won't match up to CAD V1
Prologue
There'll Be Another Time
28 May 2200, 2345 hours
Sirona was a nice, peaceful little colony once. Third squad, D company, crossed the river at midnight. Their orders were to maintain radio silence, so they could not know if the rest of the company was still alive. In reality, the Company was at about one and a half platoon strength. Their objective was to reach the Reaper "concentration camp" in the region and blow the damn thing up. The recon patrol had determined the prisoners were a lost cause anyway.
LCPL Castle had to admit the plan was ballsy. He had to wonder if Captain Thompson came up with the idea himself or was voluntold for the mission. He supposed it didn't matter. It had to be done, and with the way that this war was going… there were worse ways to die.
LCPL Momsen, the fire team point man, raised his rifle, signaling that he had seen the enemy. Then he pumped his arm to the side, signaling for a hasty ambush. They all took cover and waited for a Reaper patrol to pass by. Silently, the fire team snuck up on the Marauders and Cannibals and slit their "throats," causing some kind of black fluid to leak. A quick and quiet death that was better than they deserved, or a mercy, depending on how you looked at it.
His father carried a Mass Effect "rifle" back in his day before the Navy had taken all of the EEZO for ships. Now he and every other grunt carried a rifle that was simultaneously advanced and outdated in that it relied on conventional propellants for HEAPI rounds. The advantage was that Reaper forces couldn't track them via Mass Effect signature, and the weapons hit harder than the old ones. The extra weight in ammo was a bitch, though.
The combat patrol ran into several more security patrols on their way to the objective; each time they engaged, their chances of being caught and unable to complete their mission increased, so Castle and Momsen, as the fire team leader and point man, respectively, had to pick their battles wisely.
As they drew closer to the compound, they began to hear the telltale screeching and moaning of Reaper forces. The prisoners looked gaunt and hollow; they were already Husks and only lacked the cybernetic enhancements. The team got into position and waited for the weapons platoon to make their-
Several buildings in the compound erupted into a blinding flash of light. The mortars were accompanied by machinegun fire, and then suddenly, both were absent as the weapons platoon
moved positions to avoid enemy air support. That was their cue to move in and mark any high-priority hard targets while killing any soft targets in their way. All of this had to be done before any Reaper ships decided to break away from the orbital battle and wreak havoc on the ground troops.
An unholy screeching made his blood run cold. A Banshee had spotted them. Momsen screamed as the Asari lifted him and fell silent as she ripped his lungs out of his thoracic cavity. Jester, the gunner, fired from the hip and hit her with a storm of lead, forcing her to retreat. Castle fired a grenade at her, neutralizing her as a threat. She continued to scream and moan, but they couldn't spare the ammo to finish her off, especially with another man down. The fire team took Momsen's weapon, ammo, IFAK, and other vital gear, torched the body to prevent the Reapers from turning him into a husk, and moved on to their objective.
The processing camp was a disturbing sight. What had once been sentient beings were now mindless automatons. Their cages no longer necessary as all thoughts of resistance or escape seemed to have been stomped out of them.
"Jake," one of the prisoners managed to moan at him. "Help me," he turned to look at her and realized they were close once. Her name was Bethany Callahan. She was a country girl back on Eden Prime and talked about how she was going to the Terminus systems to help the colonies as they braced themselves for the inevitable invasion. He had seriously considered running away to join her four years ago, back when they were 15-year-old kids.
"Jake, they're in my head. Please don't leave me!"
He was frozen in place. How could he leave her there? A crack of thunder snapped him out of his daze as he squeezed the trigger and put her out of her misery. She smiled as she fell forwards despite the massive exit wound.
The Reapers swarmed their position as they took cover in a lab. Abominations that, once upon a time, only existed in the imagination of H.P. Lovecraft now filled every room. Horrors that could once leave grown men quivering now only strengthened their resolve to kill the bastards.
Fire team Bravo called a firing solution on their own position as they were overrun. Castle felt the ground beneath him tremble as dozens of mortars impacted a few hundred yards away. There would be time to mourn later.
Fire teams Alpha and Charlie marked targets as they fought through the compound. When they reached the reactor, they uploaded a virus to override the parameters to turn it into a fusion bomb. They then fought their way to the rendezvous point.
As the senior lance corporal, Castle reported the mission's success to staff sergeant Weber. "That's excellent news, but we just got word that we're pulling out and getting off-world."
"But staff sergeant, we're winning! Why would they pull us out?" Castle asked.
"Because it's a different story up there. Drop ships inbound, dust off in ten," he replied.
He relayed the message to the men in his squad. There were a few injuries that the corpsman had to treat, but otherwise, they were "combat-ready." At this point, it only meant that they weren't dead or indoctrinated.
Stephens, a squad leader from the weapons platoon, came up to Castle. They had been friends for their entire enlistment and had even volunteered instead of getting conscripted. "You know I was born less than twenty miles from here?" he asked.
"If you ignore the Reapers, it's still a shit hole," Castle joked.
Stephens laughed harder than the stupid joke deserved, but it made him feel better about the situation. "Well, you're not wrong, but it was my shit hole."
Castle nodded, "There'll be another time. The Reapers will get theirs."
The shuttles loaded up the company and ascended through the atmosphere in minutes. In orbit were dozens of top-of-the-line warships. Each had carbon scoring from the Reapers' Thanix cannons. They were also maneuvering to break orbit. Thousands of miles beyond his vision, Castle knew there were well over one thousand Reapers in the system.
There have been seventeen years of this. Almost a hundred colonies, all whittled down to a few strongholds by a ruthless enemy with seemingly infinite numbers. Modern cruisers could hold their own and even win against a Sovereign-class on a ship-to-ship basis. But they were hopelessly outnumbered.
On the ground, the Alliance always won. Modern tactics and weapons beat what he called the "scare factor" for the Reapers' apparent dedication to demoralizing the enemy, even at the cost of effectiveness, any day of the week. The problem was that the Reapers knew that the ground battles were secondary. A defeat in orbit negated any victory on the ground. Soon there would be no more colonies, no more human settlements—and nowhere left to run. They would go extinct like countless cycles before them.
But not until the Alliance destroyed every last Mass Relay to slow the Reapers down. The Alliance and other races no longer needed them for travel between systems. This new technology was slower but didn't rely on EEZO, so all the EEZO in alliance inventory could be used to make shields and weapons—Navy shields and MAC guns.
As dozens of magnetic mass accelerator rounds impacted the Relay, it began to overheat and the Alliance ships jumped out of the system before setting off the NOVA bomb by the Relay.
The Butcher of Torfan
During October 2176, Batarian raiders inflicted severe losses on Alliance colonists for daring to settle the Skyllian Verge. The Batarian pirates were believed to have established a high-traffic base on the small moon Torfan, which acted as a distribution center for slaves. Desperate to rescue the colonists, the Alliance sent multiple strike teams to search for the base, as orbital recon was too dangerous and could spark a war with the Hegemony.
As the weather cleared over the Latro Valley on October 3, 2178, the brass assigned Recon team Strike Team (ST) Arizona to run a target southwest of the Latro Valley. SA Marine Staff Lieutenant James Shepard, a combat-hardened veteran who had been a Force Recon Marine for over three years with the 1st Recon Bn, Bravo Company, was introduced to a new team leader. The Major was appointed team leader only because he had more rank than Shepard. The latter had more experience fighting the Batarians—especially in this corner of the galaxy—than the Major did. After the fireteam was introduced to the new fireteam leader, they were ordered to fly a visual reconnaissance (VR) over the target.
VRs were flown as close to the launch date as possible and usually in a UT-47S Kodiak, stealth variant. In this case, the VR was flown two days before the target launch date of October 5, 2178. Shepard and the new Major flew in the rear of the aircraft. The primary and secondary landing zones had been selected when the aircraft was hit by anti-aircraft fire. A piece of the undercarriage vaporized under the immense heat of repeated strikes and sent a metal fragment into the co-pilot's skull with such force that his helmet slammed against the ceiling and ricocheted into Major Kyle's lap—still containing part of the co-pilot's bloody head.
The pilot slammed the small aircraft down to treetop level and returned to South Sog. Kyle, unable to move or open a window, puked into the helmet. That night, there was a fair share of jokes in camp about Kyle's "puke and brain" salad.
Saturday, October 5, there was no laughing as the Mantes flew west across Weatherby from Grendel, near the Beowulf Sea, over the Latro Valley into the target area. The weather was clear in Grendel but cloudy over the area of operations (AO). During that flight, Shepard remembered how the launch commander had said this mission would be a cakewalk. Staff Sgt. Robert J Parks and Staff Sgt Patrick Watkins, the Forward Air Observers–nicknamed Covey– however, knew that it was a tough target where the Batarian had previously run out other teams from Forward Operating Base (FOB) 1. Additionally, there were no new landing zones for the team's insertion. For this target, Watkins was the forward air controller in the Mantis, piloted by Staff Lieutenant Hartness.
ST Arizona's insertion started smoothly, as the first Mantis landed quickly, with the fireteam leader and assistant team leader exiting the aircraft. As Shepard's Mantis spiraled downward toward the landing zone (LZ), he observed a Batarian Flag planted atop a nearby knoll. From his days in the 1st Recon, Shepard knew that the presence of a Batarian flag meant that there was at least a regiment of Batarian troops in the area. The knoll was surrounded by jungle. On the west side, there was a 1000-foot drop to the valley floor below.
The numbers didn't compute for Shepard. Approximately 3000 Batarian troops against nine recon Marines? Several rifles opened fire before the Mantis's wheels touched down. Nonetheless, Shepard and the remaining Marines exited the A-61. As the Mantis lifted off, the Batarian gunfire was joined by AA, and moments later, the laboring A-61 Mantis crashed.
Although this was Shepard's second operation in the area, he knew the odds were stacked against ST Arizona. He and the gunner, Cowboy, argued vigorously for immediate extraction. The team had been compromised, and the element of surprise was gone.
"That's a negative, Bravo company," Covey answered. "This comes straight from the top. The mission WILL be completed today."
Major Kyle ordered the point man to walk down a well-traveled trail away from the LZ and into the jungle. Shepard, Sergeant Chris "Cowboy" Callahan, and Sergeant Rob "Biker" Johnson, the A-gunner, argued against heading down the path. The first rule of SOF recon was never to use trails, especially well-traveled ones.
The Major pulled rank and ordered the team to move down the trail, with Dennings leading and the elder Marine following behind him. The trail wound into the jungle and curved to the left. ST Arizona moved cautiously. As the team descended the path, it moved parallel to a slight rise on its right, about 10 to 20 feet above the unit. On it, a Batarian Captain had quickly assembled a platoon, who set up a classic L-shaped ambush.
The quiet of the early morning jungle was shattered when the Batarian troops opened fire with their Terminators and occasionally even Kishocks.
The high-velocity rounds ripped into the point man's chest and face. The fatal impact of those rounds seemed to keep his body suspended in the air even as his flesh was exploding. What had been a human body seconds earlier was being chewed into an amorphous form of meat. Three rounds slammed into the sergeant's head, ripping apart the right side of his face, killing him instantly. Major Kyle buried his face in the dirt and started praying. The gutless bastard is lucky his father's a general, Shepard noted while reorienting himself.
Shepard and the remaining ST Arizona team members opened fire. The Marine stood there, firing on single-shot, picking off Batarians on top of the rise and keeping an eye out for the one in charge. He reloaded his M7 Lancer and went down the line, shooting them one after another. Sometimes they spun, and Shepard shot them with a second or third burst. Move fast, keep your head down, take cover and make every shot count: basics he'd learned from IOC years ago.
As the Batarians continued to fire on the team, Shepard and Cowboy formed the team into a circle and directed a barrage of grenades and rifle fire into the surrounding jungle. Then a startling, eerie silence hung over the men. Shepard thought he was in his grave. ST Arizona was in a low spot, with the ground rising 10 to 20 feet on both the left and right. A perfect kill zone if he'd ever seen one.
Both the Batarians and ST Arizona tended to their wounded while the living combatants slammed power cells* and ammo blocks** into hot weapons. There was moaning and groaning, suffering on both sides. Shepard got on the COM to tell Covey about ST Arizona's tragic turn of events. Shepard and Corporal Black scavenged weapons and ammo from the dead ST Arizona team members.
Covey responded, "you're not a doctor, nor for that fact, a medic. You can't determine who's beyond saving! Bring out all bodies for verification of death."
Their argument was drowned out when more than 100 Batarian troops opened fire on ST Arizona, as enemy troops had reinforced the initial ambush unit. By now, the Batarian ranks were two rows deep. The front row fired their rifles, and the second row threw grenades or fired explosives. The ground all around them turned to glass. It was a miracle they were still alive.
Another Marine was wounded, Corporal Thompson. The team had to get out of the hole or die in it. The Batarian taunted the humans in their harsh language. The coward continued to pray. Shepard couldn't believe it. "This is no time to pray… do unto others before they do unto you!" he yelled. Whether or not the Batarians were praying, they continued to move around ST
Arizona, some climbing into the trees. Cowboy and Shepard crawled 15 feet toward them, close enough that Cowboy heard the Batarian Captain tell his troops to prepare to charge ST Arizona's position. The Captain also told his troops on the long side of the "L" ambush not to fire. Shepard quickly rigged a claymore in the direction of the impending charge.
Batarians charged. Shepard detonated the mine, blowing a massive hole in their ranks. Before the smoke cleared, ST Arizona ran through the carnage, firing M7s on full automatic and throwing frag grenades while dragging their three wounded team members out. Miraculously, ST Arizona made it through the wave of Batarian attackers and moved back toward the target, leaving their dead behind.
The relentless and bloodied Batarians ran after the strike team. Shepard planted a mine with a five-second time-delay fuse. It wreaked havoc on the hard-charging Batarians.
As the smoke cleared and the body parts settled back to the ground, ST Arizona split in half and again charged through the battered and torn ranks of the Batarian warriors, killing any standing enemy. They counted at least 50 dead Batarian soldiers.
Again, eerie silence engulfed the team, and ST Arizona regrouped. Just as suddenly, a new wave of Batarian soldiers rushed the beleaguered team. ST Arizona had been pushed near the cliff. It was a thousand feet to the ground if they went over the edge. Now on-line, ST Arizona charged through the weakest Batarian flank, the one without any Eviscerator shotguns, killing more enemy soldiers.
As he moved out, something landed a few feet behind Shepard. The grenade exploded and knocked him into a tree, face-first He thought he was drowning, but then he felt feet kicking him and hands slapping him all over. It was the team. They were beating Shepard back into consciousness and pouring water on his face. He tried to get up, but his legs didn't work. From the knees down, there was no armor or fatigues, only surface bleeding. One of the guys started smearing medi-gel on his open wounds.
By 0900, word of ST Arizona's precarious position had spread through FOB 1 like wildfire. Requests were made for more assets. It was now an official Prairie Fire emergency. All aircraft were pulled from their missions and sorties to support ST Arizona. Any gunships attached to 1st Recon were summoned to their aid.
"Arizona, this is Covey. Hold out for a bit longer and we'll be able to extract the wounded and KIAs. The brass has a few tricks up their sleeve."
"Dennings got left behind. There wasn't much left to bring with us," Shepard responded. He ignored the last part of the transmission. The team needed to focus on surviving long enough for EVAC
"Copy that. Dennings KIA."
The first gunships to arrive escorted a UT-47 Kodiak with a ladder attached for jungle extractions. When the Mantes entered the AO, they were hammered by heavy enemy ground fire, as was the Kodiak. Green tracers went toward the Kodiak. The ground fire became too intense, and the drop ship had to withdraw and make an emergency landing at Camp Sparrow in the 77th Airborne Division Compound. Despite the hits, the Mantes made several passes, expending all ordnance, before returning to base to reload.
Wasp officers regrouped and prepared to fly back to Latro Valley to extract what was left of ST Arizona. The Base Commander asked for volunteers for a Bright Light mission, and every recon man in FOB 1 volunteered. ST Nevada was scheduled to insert into the Prairie Fire AO the next day, October 6, because the team was ready to go; there was some initial discussion about Nevada being the Bright Light Team. As the day dragged on, however, and the perilous nature of ST Arizona's situation worsened, the Bright Light option faded because the original LZ was now too deadly.
When Watkins returned to FOB1 for the Mantis to refuel, he told the others that it didn't look good. He wasn't sure if they'd be able to get them out. He explained the low, recessed area in the LZ, the spotty weather, and how the smoke from expended ordnance hung over the LZ, making it more difficult to spot the team and accurately deliver air strikes.
A resupply of ammo, grenades, mines, grenades, water, and first aid supplies was placed on a Kodiak and launched toward ST Arizona. In the valley, Cowboy worked on Shepard's legs. He told Shepard the last wave of Batarians had continued onto the LZ. Cowboy and Shepard heard more Mantis and Sparrowhawk gunships arrive overhead and witnessed the Batarian on the LZ open fire, hammering the lead aircraft.
Again, Major Kyle panicked, cried, and shouted skyward. The survivors told Shepard they would kill him if he didn't shut up. Shepard agreed. "I'll pull the trigger on him myself."
"God forgive you!" Major Kyle responded tearfully.
"You and your God have no place here!" Shepard retorted. Cowboy grabbed a startled Shepard by the throat and lifted a Catholic crucifix from his neck, and shoved it to his lips.
"It's only by the grace of God which has allowed us to get this far, Shepard!" he whispered tersely through clenched teeth.
The sound of approaching Mantes and Kodiaks ended the religious debate as the realities of surviving a Batarian hell became the center focus. The able-bodied picked up the wounded and moved toward the LZ. Spider, the forward air controller at the time, told Shepard that the first Kodiak was en route to the LZ, but they planned to work the area surrounding ST Arizona with tactical air support first. In this case, a Mantis pilot told Shepard to "key your headset for 10 seconds. Put your heads in the dirt, over."
Shepard acknowledged the radio transmission and told his teammates to put their heads down. As he looked into the sun, he observed the slowest-moving Short Sword he had ever seen. The glide path ratio was critical. Seconds later, he saw the tree line across the LZ explode into sheets of white, yellow, and orange flames, setting the jungle on fire with napalm. The craft banked sharply, appearing to stand its wing tip on the ground. The pilot cranked on the burners, dropped into the valley below, and began a vertical climb.
Batarian small arms opened up on all sides of the valley. The Mantis took numerous hits on its armor-plated underbelly. Among those shooting at the fast mover were several Batarian troops about 20 feet from ST Arizona's perimeter. As the napalm torched the jungle, dozens of Batarian soldiers scurried into the open field to escape the instant inferno that had engulfed their comrades.
As a second gunship rolled in for a gun run, the Batarian initiated what the Alliance had termed "getting close to the belt." In this case, the Batarian moved toward or outright charged ST Arizona to get as close to the team members as possible to avoid being hammered or burned by Alliance ordnance.
Firing on semiautomatic, ST Arizona picked off each of them as they came out of the burning jungle. The Short Swords returned and made a run along the team's perimeter. Before the dust settled, Black and Cowboy crawled out and recovered several power cells and ammo blocks from the dead Batarian soldiers as they were running dangerously low on ammo.
Two of the nine UT-47G Kodiaks came chugging up the valley towards ST Arizona.
"Arizona, we're getting too much interference to pick up your LADAR signatures. Pop smoke!"
Shepard popped a green smoke marker. The Batarians popped an identical smoke marker, confusing the pilots with devastating results.
The first Kodiak followed the Batarian's smoke marker and took a direct hit from an Anti-Air platform, which toppled it on its side, smashing into the ground. The approaching ST Arizona team members narrowly missed getting hit with shrapnel from the crash.
Shepard, Cowboy, and Drake charged the Anti-Air position, killing three before a hail of fire drove them back to the team perimeter. The second Kodiak hit an outcropping of rock on the western side of the knoll after taking heavy enemy fire. It exploded and fell 1000 feet to the valley floor below, bringing with it ST Arizona's resupply.
"Nice going, Shepard!" the Forward Observer barked.
"Fuck you, Covey," he replied.
Cowboy told Major Kyle to pray for everyone except Shepard because he was on the "devil's side." Shepard broke into laughter as he assessed ST Arizona's predicament: Ammo was desperately low, bodies were charred, the Mantes had expended all of their ordnance, and Covey was belligerent. His nerves were shot. Training and man's basic survival instinct had completely taken over. Then, Batarian battle drums sounded.
Waves of Batarian troops with Terminators, mixed with Eviscerator-wielding units, advanced on ST Arizona. When they were 15 feet away, ST Arizona opened fire. The half-trained conscripts were no match for the well-coordinated firepower of the strike team. After the first burst of full-automatic fire, the team went to single-shot except for the machinegun team. It was another turkey shoot. Without a word, look, or plan, acting solely on instinct, all of them, except the cowardly team leader, scurried forward and dragged back dead Batarian soldiers, placing the bodies in a circle around them and stacking them high. The deadly skirmishing continued for several hours before Covey told Shepard that more Kodiak gunships and five Vulture heavy gunships were en route.
"Shepard, Covey. What you're up against is the regiment you were sent to find over."
"Is that all, only 3000 of the bastards? Well, I think we made a dent in them. Who's winning?"
"They are," Covey responded. As Shepard finished his comment, he saw a sight he would never forget. The Batarian formed a front line of Skirmishers firing their Eviscerator shotguns and Terminator rifles. Behind them were several Batarians wielding Kryshock sniper rifles. Several grunts lined up and sent a volley of grenades at the defending Recon team. They ducked behind their cadaver wall and threw some grenades—the Batarians advanced. Grenade shrapnel severed the antenna on the portable radio Shepard carried. He quickly rigged an impromptu antenna from the wire. The relentless Batarians continued to advance, inch by bloody inch, hoping to drown the Marines in a sea of Batarian blood.
Cowboy took Biker and Drake over the perimeter, seeking another line of fire to direct at the advancing Batarians. The advance continued despite the firing from Shepard and his remaining team members. The Batarian line was now mere feet away from the team's perimeter. At the last minute, with the Batarians a few body lengths away from the perimeter, two Mantis gunships arrived. The pilots were code-named "The Judge" and "The Executioner." They roared into the battle, first with a Minigun buzz, followed seconds later by several rockets placed in the rear of the Batarian ranks. Arizona was saved, if only for a little while. The Batarians backed off for a few moments, briefly licking their collective wounds, although they were far from whipped. New assault lines of Batarian troops formed.
Before the Batarians opened fire on ST Arizona, however, the Executioner confronted them head-on. Both heavy machineguns fired away as the Kodiak hovered inches off the ground, between the team and the front of the Batarians, and skipped several rockets into the ground and the Batarian ranks. Before the bleeding, startled Batarians could respond, the pilot lifted the gunship over the tree line and ducked down into the canyon, regaining enough airspeed to return for another pass at the ST Arizona perimeter.
Before ST Arizona could celebrate, the Batarians charged again. They added three more Batarian corpses to the cadaver wall. Silence dominated the battlefield: no bird chirps, no speaking, no noise of any type. Even the aircraft over the scene had flown far enough away that their absence amplified the empty air. Major Kyle, who hadn't fired a single shot, continued to pray.
Shepard patched up a burnt Cowboy. He gave him painkillers before treating a gushing wound on his right side from a carbine. "'Tis but a scratch." Cowboy coughed. The others laughed. Their laughter was interrupted when a sniper hit Chan in the crotch, hitting an artery.
As Black applied direct pressure to Chan's wound and applied Medi-gel, several Mantes lumbered into the AO. The aircraft was so close to the team that Shepard could hear the distinctive, metallic click-click of the napalm canisters releasing from the aircraft. The Mantes appeared to be falling, but they slipped into the valley to escape Batarian gunfire as the Kodiaks had done earlier that day.
Thompson and Drake covered the team's withdrawal. For a few glorious seconds, the two men held back an army. But a small team of Batarians flanked them and cut them down with a hail of gunfire. Biker and Cowboy instinctively turned to help their brothers. Their LMG managed to keep the host off of them as they pushed towards the fallen Corporals. Two Kryschock rifles ended their storm of lead.
Then, three AA guns opened fire. Shepard knew there was no way in hell any of the ships could survive fire from that. He and Black crawled over the cadaver wall toward the mortars, cautiously picking their way through the charred Batarian bodies and carnage from the previous airborne assaults. They moved into the jungle, within 20 feet of the first gun. They would ambush the AA platforms. He would hit the first tank, Black would hit the third, and they would combine fire on the second.
Shepard fired on the crew guarding it and planted an explosive at its base. The armored unit burst into flames. Black opened fire on his target at the same time that Shepard did. The survivors of the first AA platform began chasing Shepard. In the confusion, the Batarians opened fire on each other as Shepard headed toward the second gun—with Batarian soldiers still chasing him—where Black was pinned down. Shepard threw a hand grenade to wipe out their shields and killed at least three with a blast of gunfire to free Black. They turned on the Batarians chasing Shepard and dealt with them. Then he and Black wiped out the Batarian at the second gun before quickly returning to Major Kyle's position. They picked up ammo and weapons from dead or wounded Batarian troops on their way.
By now, Watkins had returned to flying Covey rider above ST Arizona. Command had called in the Pararescue group to attempt a rescue of ST Arizona. Pararescue troopers flew modified Vulcan heavy gunships with extra armament and firepower. The first Vulcan started its descent to the LZ from 4000 feet. As it approached, the crew was looking for an orange panel on the southeast side of the LZ. However, as the aircraft was about to touch down, crew members noticed a second panel. The Batarians had an identical panel. The momentary pause was nearly fatal for them as the Batarians opened fire on it from several sides. The heavy gunfire severed the main fuel line, causing a massive fuel leak inside the Vulcan.
The first Vulcan had to withdraw from the LZ. In a matter of seconds, there were two to three inches of reactor coolant on the aircraft's cabin floor. The fumes temporarily blinded the crew members, but the pilot stabilized the rugged Vulcan and returned to FOB 2, escorted by SPAD 11.
As Vulcan 2 hovered a safe distance away from the LZ, Watkins directed a few more air strikes around ST Arizona, with the hope that the Batarian soldiers would put their heads down long enough to get the team out. After a few air strikes, Vulcan 2, piloted by Lieutenant Commander Vernon Granier, was called to attempt the extraction. For Granier, this was his first assignment in the Prairie Fire AO as a PJ Vulcan pilot.
When the call from Covey came, Granier knew that there were four Marines on the ground and that most of the team was dead or wounded. He didn't hesitate. Granier piloted the PJ Vulcan
toward the LZ. Unlike Vulcan 1, Granier knew which side of the LZ ST Arizona was on. As he approached the LZ, Batarian gunfire again reached a deafening roar, despite ST Arizona directing firepower at the Batarian.
As Granier began to hover over the LZ, Vulcan 2 was hammered by enemy gunfire. His crew chief reported that one Batarian round had torn a six-inch hole through the floor. The round slammed into one of the engines. Both engine-warning lights went on. Both engines were on fire.
Granier did a 180-degree turn and moved the damaged aircraft away from the deadly enemy fire, away from the team, struggling to keep it airborne, calling upon all the training he had received to continue flying. Both crew members continued firing their machine guns as Granier battled to keep the ship in the air.
Time ran out for Vulcan 2. After traveling several hundred yards, Granier warned his crew to brace themselves for a crash landing. Both crew members continued firing their weapons until the burning PJ Vulcan slammed into the jungle.
ST Arizona was stunned. Covey and all the men flying over the target area viewed the horror in grim silence. The men back at FOB 1 monitored the radio transmissions on their radios as Covey talked to Shepard. Strike Team Arizona's radio signal was too weak to hear any response. The word spread through camp about the latest horrific events surrounding ST Arizona. Quiet, hushed tones replaced the usual hustle and bustle of a Saturday at FOB 1 as the entire compound feared the worst but continued to pray for the men of ST Arizona. Word of a proposed Arc Light mission reinforced the gravity of ST Arizona's situation. An Arc Light was a strike by a bomber from more than 75000 feet.
Back in Weatherby, the stunned members of ST Arizona returned to their cadaver perimeter again, nearly out of ammo. Major Kyle was face down, muttering, "The Lord is my shepherd…."
One of the team went about collecting power cells from the Batarian as Spider and Watkins directed more air strikes around the team.
Within 10 to 15 minutes after Granier's PJ Vulcan crashed into the jungle, Covey learned that there were two survivors from the PJ Vulcan and asked ST Arizona to locate the remaining crew members. Granier had broken his back but somehow had pulled himself from the burning PJ Vulcan. The other survivor, Sergeant Earnest Dean, had been thrown clear of the crash. Neither knew the location of the other. Watkins told Shepard where the Air Force survivors were and that they'd run a daisy chain between his position and the men, hoping to clear the area enough for the team to get to both survivors.
The Batarians threw another curve at ST Arizona. When Shepard tried to talk to Covey, he found the primary, secondary, and alternate COM frequencies jammed by the Batarian. Frustrated, Shepard smashed his radio and pulled out his Ultra-High Frequency survival radio. He was told that an Arc Light strike was planned for this area as soon as possible.
By now, all the air assets scheduled to fly sorties into neighboring sectors were diverted to the Prairie Fire emergency surrounding ST Arizona. Covey directed numerous air strikes, including more gun and rocket runs from helicopters and gunships. The Vulcans returned to make several runs. After refueling and reloading in Grendel, the attack craft returned to wreak havoc on the persistent Batarian troops. They pounded the jungle area between ST Arizona and the Air Force survivors as part of the daisy-chain tactic.
Around 1800 hours, a PJ Vulcan pilot, Lieutenant Commander Don Olsen, called over the radio, "Shepard, PJ 32. I'm parked down in the draw, in the trees north of you. You have 20 minutes of fuel before I leave. Hurry! We're taking heavy ground fire."
Anything that couldn't be carried was thrown over the side of the cliff. As quickly as the wounded men could move, they headed toward the PJ Vulcan. The gunship had cut away treetops and branches to nestle into the thick dark green foliage, thus reducing its profile to enemy gunners. Olsen had to keep the aircraft stable as there were large trees on all sides. The trees were large enough that they could severely damage the wings and cause the gunship to crash if he hit any of them.
Covey directed more air strikes in a daisy chain fashion in the portion of the jungle between ST Arizona and the PJ Vulcan. Watkins hoped this would drive out or kill the Batarians in the zone. Even that task became more difficult, as smoke from the expended ordnance continued to hang above the trees, decreasing visibility for pilots and gunners.
As they moved toward the hovering PJ Vulcan, ST Arizona entered a cool ravine before climbing the final hill to the gunship. There they encountered Sergeant Dean scavenging food. Soon after, they found Granier.
The Batarian focused heavily on the gunship, easing the pressure on ST Arizona. As the beleaguered recon team neared the PJ Vulcan, Shepard felt like they were moving closer to the gates of Hell itself. The Batarian troops poured small arms fire and rockets at the hovering ship while the door gunners and pilots intermittently fired their Minigun and rockets. Time was against them. The weather began to close in. The smoke from previous airstrikes hung over the area for longer and longer periods before clearing enough for the subsequent attacks from the air.
On the ground, the men of ST Arizona heard Batarians running through the bushes around them. Fortunately, the Batarians failed to spot the Strike Team or the PJs crewmen. Desperate, Shepard had to move his team onto a trail so it could move to the hovering PJ Vulcan more quickly. As the team moved up the path, the tail gunner shook violently and turned a pasty white. Team members set Chan down and proceeded to the aircraft. At the trail's crest, they saw the PJ Vulcan taking hits and dealing out its own. Shepard saw someone firing a Typhoon out of one of the windows.
As Shepard moved to the gunship, the intensity of gunfire seemed to multiply. The air was so full of lead that he could see it. Coolant and bits of metal skin fell from the aircraft as they reached its underside. The jungle penetrator smashed to the ground next to him and raised three feet before he put three team members on the first load. Granier and Black were on the second hoist lift.
Despite Batarian gunfire, Shepard ran back to the bamboo thicket, where he had left the remainder of the team. Chan, the dying tail gunner, pointed his Predator at the advancing Batarian and said, "I've got these fuckers." He motioned for Shepard to return to the PJ Vulcan before firing five shots into an advancing squad and priming the last of his explosives.
Shepard was running back to the ship when two Batarians stepped onto the trail and pointed their carbines at him. Shepard grabbed the carbines by their searing barrels and stripped them from the aliens. He backhanded the one on his right and smashed the other in the face with one of the weapons. He left the stunned aliens lying there as he sprinted to the gunship, where he found the praying Major. The rest of the team was on board, firing any weapon they could handle. As the jungle penetrator lifted Shepard and the team upward, they were showered with hot, spent power cells from all of the guns fired from inside the aircraft.
As the PJ Vulcan slowly rose, Shepard felt the ship making upward surges from the rockets the Batarians fired into the armor-plated underside of the aircraft. It felt like a Giant slugging the ship in the stomach, boosting it upwards with each rocket blast. From his view above the fray, Watkins couldn't believe the bird kept flying. Somehow, the pilot got the Vulcan and what remained of ST Arizona out of there
Once clear of the jungle hole, the ship began its ascent out of the valley and the shadow of death. The door gunner removed his helmet and looked at Shepard, "We're on our way home."
When he stepped out of the PJ Vulcan, he was greeted by a Systems Alliance Intelligence agent, a spook. "Staff Lieutenant Shepard? I'm Captain Harper. Congratulations on your promotion to
Lieutenant Commander. The Alliance cannot thank you enough for what you and your men did today."
"When did I get promoted?" Shepard asked, confused.
"When you are awarded the Medal of Honor, you'll be promoted to Lieutenant Commander. It should happen early next week," Captain Harper said.
"I'm honored, but I'm not a hero," Shepard responded.
"SAI disagrees. The heroism of you and your men is what the people need right now," Captain Harper said.
"Well, how did I assist you? It seems more like everyone helped us," Shepard asked.
"You and ST Arizona managed to hold off a force of over three thousand Batarian Troops while a special strike team infiltrated the base to destroy it," Captain Harper said.
"You're rather forthcoming for a spook," Shepard said.
"I'm offering you a job. Major Kyle's father is too well-connected for him to face real repercussions for his inactions today, so you'll be forced out or silenced. Welcome to the Special Forces," The SAI Agent said. As Captain Harper finished speaking, a massive earthquake shook the compound.
"What was that?" Shepard asked.
"A team of N6's getting their N7," The SAI agent said before disappearing.
The Master Chief felt himself put back together like a puzzle with a million pieces and wondered what had happened and where he was. He felt disoriented, nauseous, and angry. A quick look around was sufficient to ascertain that the machine named 343 Guilty Spark had somehow transported him from the swamp into the bowels of a dark, brooding structure. He saw the machine hovering high above, glowing a thin, ghostly blue. The Spartan raised his MA5B and fired half of a magazine into it. The bullets were dead on but had no effect other than to elicit a bemused response.
"That was unnecessary, Reclaimer. I suggest that you conserve your ammunition for the effort ahead."
No less angry but with little choice but to accept the situation, the Master Chief activated his armor's VISR*** and looked around. "So where am I?"
"The installation was specifically built to study and contain the Flood," the machine answered patiently. "Their survival as a race was dependent on it. I am grateful to see that some of them survived to reproduce."
"'Survived'? 'Reproduce'? What the hell are you talking about? The Chief demanded.
"We must collect the Index, and time is of the essence. Please follow me," Spark said, leaving the Spartan's question unanswered.
The blue light zipped away, so the Master Chief was forced to follow or be left behind. "Speaking of you, who the hell are you, and what's your function?"
"I am 343 Guilty Spark," the machine said pedantically. I am the Monitor, or more precisely, a self-repairing artificial intelligence charged with maintaining and operating this facility. But you are the Reclaimer–so you know that already."
The Master Chief knew no such thing but decided it best to play along. "Yes, well, refresh my memory… How long has it been since you were left in charge?"
"Exactly 101,217 of your years," the Monitor replied cheerfully, "many of which were quite boring. But not anymore! Hee, hee, hee."
The Spartan was taken aback by the sudden giggle from the small machine. He knew that the AIs humans used could, over time, develop personalities politely described as "quirky," Cortana being his most familiar example. 343 Guilty Spark had been here for over 100 thousand years. It was quite possible that the little AI was insane.
The Monitor chattered on, nattering about "effecting repairs to substation nine" and other nonsequiturs.
His dialogue was interrupted as various Flood forms bounced, waddled, and leaped out of the surrounding area. Suddenly the Master Chief was fighting for his life again, moving back and forth to stretch the enemy out, blasting anything that moved. Once again, he thanked the stars that HIGHCOM adopted the High-Explosive, Armor-Piercing, Incendiary rounds as standard
across all UNSC small arms near the beginning of the war. After several combat missions against the Covenant, the Spartans had found the MA5 series lacking effectiveness against Sangheili and Kig-Yar energy shields. Hence, every Spartan Mission Report ended with a request to scale down the MK211 mod 2 rounds used by .50 machineguns for use in the .308 rifles.
That was when he first identified a new Flood form. They were large, misshapen things that would explode when fired upon, spewing out a dozen or more infection forms in every direction, thereby multiplying the number of targets that the shooter had to track and kill. Finally, like water turned off at a tap, the assault ended, and the Master Chief had a chance to reload his weapons and consolidate the ammo remaining in his used magazines.
The monitor hovered nearby, all the while humming to himself and occasionally giggling. "There's no time to dawdle! We have work to do."
"What kind of work?" the Master Chief inquired as he reached for his shotgun for the confined quarters they were headed into.
"This is the Library," the machine explained, hovering so the human could catch up. "The energy field above us contains the Index. We must get up there."
The Spartan was about to ask what the Monitor was talking about when a combat form lurched out of an alcove and opened fire. He fired in return, saw the creature fall, and saw it jump back up again. The following shell popped its chest cavity open.
He turned to deal with a new horde of shambling, leaping hostiles. He quickly switched to his MA5B, and a stream of brass arced away from the heavy-barreled assault rifle**** as he worked the mob over. He sidestepped to evade a charging carrier form and shot the bulbous monster in the back. An explosion of green mist mixed with balloon-like infection forms and pieces of wet flesh. The infection forms were quickly dealt with.
After that, the Monitor took off again, and he had little choice but to follow. He soon arrived in front of a massive metal door. Part of him wondered if it had been built to contain the Flood. If so, it was ineffective since the slimy bastards seemed to be leaking out of every nook and cranny.
The Monitor hovered over the Spartan's head. "The security doors are locked automatically. I will access the override to open them. I am a genius," the Monitor said matter-of-factly. "Hee, hee, hee."
A pain in the ass is more like it. A red dot appeared on his motion sensor, quickly joined by a half-dozen more. Then, as part of what was already becoming a familiar pattern, combat forms leaped fifteen meters through the air, only to wilt as the 7.62mm HEAPI rounds tore them apart. Carrier forms waddled up as if comically obese, were torn apart like wet cardboard, and spewed pods in every direction. Infection forms danced on delicate legs, dodging this way and that, each hoping to claim the Spartan as their own.
But the Master Chief had other ideas. He killed the last of them just as the double doors started to part and followed the Monitor through. "Please follow closely," 343 Guilty Spark admonished. "This portal is the first of ten."
"I can't wait," he said as he scavenged ammo from the mutilated UNSC personnel.
343 Guilty Spark appeared immune to sarcasm as it babbled about the first-class research facilities that surrounded them–and blithely led its human companion into another ambush. And so it went as he worked through the Flood-infested galleries, subfloor maintenance tunnels, and more galleries before rounding a corner to confront more of these atrocities.
The Spartan had help this time, as a dozen hunter-killer machines he'd seen in the swamp appeared in the air above the scene and attacked the Flood forms congregated below. He lent a hand where necessary but did his best to conserve ammo.
"These Sentinels will supplement your combat systems. But I suggest you upgrade to at least a Class Twelve Combat Skin. Your current model only scans as a Class Two–which is unsuited for this work."
If there's a battle suit six times as powerful as MJOLNIR Mk V, I'll be the first to try it on. He jumped to avoid an attack from one of the combat forms, pressed the shotgun muzzle into its back, and blew a foot-wide hole through the creature. Finally, after the hardworking Sentinels had reduced the Flood to little more than a lumpy paste, the Spartan made his way through the carnage and onto a circular platform. It was enormous, easily large enough to handle a Scorpion.
Machinery hummed, bands of white light pulsated down from somewhere above, and the lift carried him upward. Maybe things would be better above; perhaps the Flood hadn't reached that level yet. He didn't hold out much hope, however. So far, nothing else had gone right on this mission.
Once he had dealt with the final contingent of creatures, the Master Chief stepped onto a lift that looked different from the last one. Geometric patterns split the floor into puzzle-like shapes, a series of raised panels stood guard around a column of translucent blue light, and the whole thing seemed to glow.
The Master Chief stepped on board, felt a slight jerk as ancient machinery reacted to his presence, and saw the walls rise. He was headed down this time–and hoped that his journey was near its end. Without hesitation, he slammed a fresh magazine into his weapon; it seemed like he emerged into a vast cluster of Flood every time he turned around.
The lift made hollow, rumbling sounds, fell a long way and stopped with a reverberating thud. 343 Guilty Spark hovered over his shoulder as the Spartan stepped off the lift and approached a pedestal. "You may now retrieve the Index," the Monitor said. The artifact glowed lime green and was shaped like the letter T. It slowly rose from the top of the cylindrical tube in which it had been kept for so many millennia. A series of metal blocks that encircled the device rotated and spun, releasing their protective grip on the Index.
The Spartan took hold of the device and pulled it up and out of its tubular sheath. He held it up to examine the glowing artifact–and was startled when a gray beam lanced from Spark. The Index was yanked from his hand and disappeared inside a storage chamber in the Monitor's body.
"What the hell are you doing?" the Spartan demanded.
"As you know, Reclaimer," Spark said, as if addressing an errant child, "protocol requires that I take possession of the Index for transport. Your biological form renders you vulnerable to infection. The Index must not fall into the hands of the Flood before we reach the Control Room and activate the Installation. The Flood is spreading! We must hurry."
The Master Chief was about to reply when he saw the bands of pulsating light flowing down around his body, knew he was about to be teleported, and again felt light-headed.
The Master Chief rematerialized back on the walkway, which seemed to float over the black abyss below–the Control Room. He saw the replica of Halo, which arched above, the globe that floated at the center of the walkway, and the control panel where he had last seen Cortana. Was she still there?
343 Guilty Spark hovered above his head. "Is something wrong?"
"No, nothing."
"Splendid. Shall we?"
The Spartan made his way forward. The control board was long and curved at either end. An endless light show played across the panel's surface as various aspects of the ringworld's extremely complicated electronic and mechanical machinery fed a constant flow of data to the display, all of which appeared as a mosaic of constantly morphing glyphs and symbols.
Here, if one knew how to read it, were the equivalents of the ringworld's pulse, respirations, and brain waves: reports that provided information on the rate of spin, the atmosphere, the weather, the highly complex biosphere, the machinery that kept all of it running, plus the activities of the creatures around whom the world had been formed: the Flood. It was awesome to look at–and even more awesome to consider.
343 Guilty Spark hovered above the control panel and looked down on the Spartan standing before him. There was something supercilious about the tone of the construct's voice. "My role in this particular endeavor has come to an end. Protocol does not allow units from my classification to perform a task as important as the reunification of the Index with the Core."
The Monitor zipped around to hover at the Master Chief's side. "That final step is reserved for you, Reclaimer."
"Why do you keep calling me that?" he asked. Spark kept silent
The Spartan shrugged, accepted the Index, and gazed at the panel before him. One likely-looking slot pulsed the same glowing green that shone from the Index. He slid it home. The T-shaped device fit perfectly.
The control panel shivered as if stabbed, the displays flared in response to an overload, and an electronic groan was heard. 343 Guilty Spark tilted slightly as if to look at the control board. "That wasn't supposed to happen," Spark chirped.
There was a sudden shimmer of light as Cortana's holographic figure appeared and continued to grow until she towered over the control panel. Her normally cerulean blue eyes were pink, data scrolled across her body, and the Master Chief knew she was pissed. "Oh, really?" she said. She gestured, and the Monitor fell out of the air and hit the deck with a clang.
The Spartan looked up at her. "Cortana–"
The AI stood up with her hands on her hips. "I spent hours cooped up here watching you toady about helping that thing get set to slit our throats."
He turned toward the Monitor and back. "Hold on now. He's a friend."
Cortana brought a hand up to her mouth in mock surprise. "Oh, I didn't realize. He's your pal, is he? Your chum? Do you have any idea what that bastard almost made you do?"
"Yes," he answered patiently. "Activate Halo's defenses and destroy the Flood. Which is why we brought the Index to the Control Center."
Cortana's image plucked the Index out of its slot and held it in front of her. "You mean this?"
343 Guilty Spark reanimated and hovered off the floor. He was furious. "A construct in the core? That is absolutely unacceptable!"
"Oh, sod off!" She answered, her eyes glowing as she bent forward.
The Monitor darted higher, "what impertinence! I shall purge you at once."
"Are you sure that's a good idea?" Cortana inquired as she waved the Index, then added the data to her memory.
"How dare you!" Spark exclaimed. "I'll—"
"Do what?" Cortana demanded. "I have the Index. You can float and sputter."
The Master Chief held both hands up, one still holding the assault rifle. "Enough! The Flood is spreading. If we activate Halo's defenses, we can wipe them out."
Cortana looked down on the Spartan with an expression of pity. "You have no idea how this ring works, do you? Why the Forerunners built it?" She leaned forward, her face grim. "Halo doesn't kill Flood—it kills their food. Human, Covenant, whatever. You're all equally edible. The only way to stop the Flood is to starve them to death. And that's exactly what Halo is designed to do. Wipe the galaxy clean of all sentient life. You don't believe me?" the AI finished. "Ask him!" and she pointed to 343 Guilty Spark.
The ramifications of what Cortana said hit home, and he gripped his MA5B tightly. He rounded on the Monitor. "Is it true?"
Spark bobbed slightly. "Of course," the construct said directly. Then, sounding more like his officious self again, "This installation has a maximum effective radius of twenty-five thousand light years, but once the others follow suit, this galaxy will be quite devoid of life, or at least any
life with sufficient biomass to sustain the Flood. "But you already knew this," the AI continued contritely. The little device sounded genuinely puzzled. "I mean, how couldn't you?"
Cortana glowered at the Master Chief. "Left out that little detail, did he?"
"We followed outbreak containment procedure to the letter," the Monitor said defensively. "You were with me each step of the way as we managed the process."
"Master Chief," Cortana interrupted, "I'm picking up movement—"
"Why would you hesitate to do what you've already done?" 343 Guilty Spark demanded.
"We need to go," Cortana insisted. "Right now!"
"Last time you asked me: If it were my choice, would I do it?" The Monitor continued as a flock of Sentinels arrayed themselves behind him. "Having had considerable time to ponder your query, my answer has not changed. There is no choice. We must activate the ring."
"Get. Us. Out. Of. Here," Cortana said, her eyes tracking the Sentinels.
"If you are unwilling to help—I will simply find another," Spark said conversationally. "Still, I must have the Index. Give your construct to me, or I will be forced to take it from you."
The Spartan looked up at Spark and the machines in the air behind him. The assault weapon came up, ready to fire. "That's not going to happen."
"So be it," the Monitor said wearily. Then, in a comment directed to the Sentinels, he added:
"Save his head. Dispose of the rest."
April 3, 2166, 2207 local time
Months of planning and her lifetime of training had led to this night. Child abuse, depression, parental conflict, and fear of failure are four of the five most common reasons for teenagers to run away. Miranda had them in spades. It wouldn't have been too bad to just stick it out for a few more years if it were just her.
But it isn't just her anymore. The bastard had made another one like her–a replacement who would go through the same Hell that she had for her 15-year existence. She tried not to think about how often this had already been attempted. She tried not to wonder if she had an older sister who cared about her the same way she cared about her baby sister. She definitely tried not to contemplate how many dead clones could be buried on this estate.
No, that line of thought had to be pushed aside. All it would accomplish would be to make her sloppy, and if she was going to avoid joining her hypothetical older sisters, she had to be at her best. Two minutes and twenty-seven seconds before the next guard will pass by.
Henry Lawson spared no expense anywhere. Least of all in the security of his own home. But he had also spared no expense in her combat, espionage, biotic, infiltration, and tactical training in addition to her neoclassical education. She had gone through SERE for the first time at thirteen years old.
The guard passed by. Go time. Carefully, she opened the door she had hacked during her musings and snuck up on the guard. She uploaded a virus to her Omni-tool that would render her unconscious without alerting the one at the security station.
She silently thanked Niket for purchasing the device for her and smuggling it in. It allowed her to upload another virus to the one given to her by her father to make it appear that she was sound asleep. She dragged the guard into her room and stole any useful equipment she might have been carrying, which included her uniform. For once, she was grateful that the Lawson patriarch was determined to be surrounded by women.
Now she had to wait for the next guard to pass by so she could make her way to the nursery. She was careful to evade any patrolling guards on her way down. Miranda was sure that there would be no hiding once she rescued Oriana.
Only one guard outside the nursery. She was too far away to upload another virus to this one. A direct assault would alert everybody sooner than she was prepared to deal with. But time was against her. The longer she took, the more likely somebody would catch on to the fact that the guard she replaced wasn't at her post.
Miranda used a precise mass effect field to slip past her barriers and block the guard's carotid arteries. She ran up and uploaded the virus on the off-chance that the security chief hadn't noticed yet. After that, she took her weapon, medi-gel, and key card and opened the door to the nursery.
Oriana was fast asleep when she walked in and grabbed some necessary supplies: a credit chit from the room's safe, baby wipes, diapers, a pacifier, and several breastmilk bottles. Once again, she would rather not spend time thinking about how Henry Lawson got it.
Miranda took the infant in her arms and ran as fast as possible while maintaining a Mass Effect field to keep her sister as stable as possible to avoid waking her.
Thirty-five seconds later, she ran into the first guard. The time for stealth was gone; Miranda fired at her head until it exploded without breaking stride. The hypersonic cracks woke up Oriana, who began to wail. Miranda ducked into a small room and put the pacifier into her baby sister's mouth, and then kept moving.
In the Master bedroom, Henry Lawson woke up to an alarm blaring. He shoved the sleeping women off of him and checked his Omni-tool. Two of his guards were dead, and Oriana had been taken out of her nursery. Nobody had ever dared to kidnap one of his daughters before… Miranda broke through the side exit and made a zigzag toward the forest. There isn't any cover until then, and I can't risk letting Oriana get hurt. She felt three rapid impacts on her barriers,threatening to collapse them. Against her better judgment, she looked back and saw her father holding a Carnifex pistol. He aimed again and squeezed the trigger just as she made her way into the forest. The bullet landed in the tree she had ducked behind, and she was out of sight, but she still had to get to the transport and get off-world…
Ilium. Outside of Thessia and the Citadel itself, the Asari colony was considered by many to be an epicenter of galactic culture and art. Yet few recognized it for the dangerous hive of opportunists that it was.
Unlike Omega, every other sentient, Asari or otherwise, would happily smile at you while preparing a knife to stab you in the back as soon as the opportunity presents itself.
On Omega, things were more simple. Nobody made any secrets about being willing to sell you off to the highest bidder. Ironically, it could be considered safer than Ilium for that reason. That is, if you could avoid the turf wars between rival gangs and mercenary companies.
But Ilium was a place where anything could be had for a price. Including a new identity and family for her sister. She already had people in mind: a young married couple, Dennis and Norma Barnes. A handyman and a nurse, respectively, they'd been trying for children when Norma's gynecologist informed her that she would be unable to conceive. Heartbroken over the news and unable to get through the red tape for adoption in Alliance Space, they came here to Ilium for a fresh start.
As good of a match as they seemed, Miranda had no intention of just handing off her sister to complete unknowns. She would have to look more into their background while she got a new identity for Oriana. Speaking of, where the hell are they? "They" being the information broker she had heard about after coercing some thug into giving her information after he had let some remarks slip.
"You shouldn't let people sneak up on you, Ms. Lawson," came a voice behind her.
Miranda froze at the mention of her surname but collected herself, put on get attempt of a diplomatic smile, and faced him. "I'm afraid you have me at a disadvantage, sir?" She replied.
A cruel smile formed on the man's lips, "I do. Let's not forget that. Now, what can I do for you?"
"I need a new identity for my sister," she answered.
"Honey, you need a lot more than that if you want to hide her from Henry fucking Lawson," he said. Miranda frantically looked around to find an exit she could take with her sister. "But you happen to be in luck. My employer has an eye for talent, and he's willing to help you hide your sister from him if you're willing to join our little organization."
Miranda hesitated. The situation was as close to Faust's as she could imagine. But she also knew that she didn't have a choice. "Deal."
Codex:
*Power cells: As the name implies, provide the power source for Citadel's small arms. The greater the energy, the greater the draw on the power source. They also double as thermal clips via compressed liquid nitrogen. Standard Pistols and submachine guns can make use of an entire 1-pound ammunition block before needing to replace the power cell. Assault rifles get 25-35 rounds before running out of power. Power and coolant draw increase geometrically, so the M-98 Widow gets one round at 52000 ft*lbf while the M4-Shuriken and M12-Locust get 560 at 720 ft*lbf. This is so that submachine guns are a viable option instead of something that nobody ever touches like today.
**Ammunition blocks: standardized at approximately 1-pound depending on the alloy used: standard ammo blocks are made from a lead-iron alloy; incendiary ammo blocks are a magnesium-iron alloy; armor-piercing blocks are a tungsten-steel alloy. An M8 Avenger/M7 Lancer will get 280 rounds from a single ammunition block, so most soldiers will carry one or two extras. A modern combat loadout with 5.56mm in the US military is about 210 rounds. One 30-round magazine in the rifle and six on your body.
The reason that Citadel weapons use metal bullets much larger than a grain of sand going much slower than relativistic velocities is to prevent the bullets from vaporizing the instant they come into contact with air resistance, as well as allowing them to hit targets at actual combat distance without losing all of their energy. They still travel almost twice as fast while weighing less than
half as much compared to present-day equivalents for about 50% more energy, so I consider it a fair compromise between lore and realism.
***VISR. Lore states that MJOLNIR Mk V and later models are equipped with VISR, obviously Halo: CE came out before Bungie came up with VISR as a concept. MC never used it in the games but I see no reason not to include it. Games are the highest level of canon as far as plot but gameplay doesn't necessarily reflect canon. Otherwise you'd have Marines dying from near-misses from plasma pistol shots and Elites tanking several magazines worth of M118 7.62 while the MC can bitch-slap missiles in-game.
****MA5 variants:
The MA5K and MA5C have tapered medium-profile barrels. They differ in barrel length, 16" and 20" for a 27" and 31" overall length, respectively.
The MA5B has a heavy-profile barrel of 22" while the handguard has reinforced heat shields and extra vents for use as a support weapon in environments where a belt-fed is inadvisable such as EVA environments.
The MA5D has an accurized 22" barrel with a non-tapered, medium profile for use as a DMR. Both the MA5B and MA5D have an overall length of 33"