Apien Crest
Mactare System
The signal was transmitted through the relay faster than the speed of light, faster than the ship moving within- the war machine was coming.
The Reapers guarding the relay immediately retreated, calculating trajectories that would carry them away from their device and towards the organic colony world.
They had to get away before the Bolo came.
As they ran, the relay released its cargo; half a dozen converted carriers, escorted by three times as many frigates into normal space. twenty-four cruisers followed, along with a heavy troop transport, and a pair of brand-new light carriers.
Most of the hangars on the carriers were of the same type as any other; large chambers with kinetic barriers keeping in the atmosphere, that allowed the fighters to lift off and begin CAP operations.
Those hangars furthest out on the light carriers, and all of the hangars on several conversions however, had been replaced.
Instead of the large holding compartments, these hangars formed grids of small hatches, seven per row.
Silently, several squadrons were released around the drifting fleet from the standard hangars, taking up defensive positions.
They soared gracefully but purposefully across the great void, destroying Reaper early-warning probes. They never strayed too far from the protective embrace of their motherships, and fought off harrying attacks by enemy fighters like bees protecting their queen.
Simultaneously, as the fighters flew like those in the commercials, purpose-made and makeshift carriers alike began to rotate, and the new hatches opened.
A number of new fighters were arrayed inside, their noses pointed forward, and were unlike anything the Hierarchy had developed in years.
The maneuvering thrusters were arrayed on small pods, bolted to the ends of four wings that reached out from the center, where the weapons, power systems, and cockpit were located. The design was purely for space, no aerodynamics of any kind.
As the carriers rotated, the fighter mounts pivoted downwards, pointing them out towards space; one by one they were released by centrifugal force alone, each hangar holding twice the number of normal fighters.
Just as gracefully as their contemporary fellows, the Starfuries took up defensive positions around their respective queens.
Several of the cruisers that they defended were as unusual as the Starfury.
They looked like typical Turian heavy cruisers for the most part, but the barrel of the mass accelerator had been extended a bit further, both fore and aft. It also had several beams and plates welded all over the place as reinforcement, most not even painted.
Along the extended aft section were still more Starfury bays replacing the contemporary ones of the past.
What led the battlegroup was even stranger than the new additions. A Turian Assault Transport, with Bolo HCT of the Line, Mark. XXXIII, last of the 6th Mobile Starstrike Regiment held in the clamps.
Deep within its hull, a human and a Turian shared the command center.
"Hopefully that battlecruiser will hold together." General Partinax snorted derisively at the display, then took another drink from his canteen.
"Hector thinks it will," General Graham replied, "By his calculations it should at least hold together for three shots!"
The general glanced puzzledly at the human, who stood near the dome display nursing a drink of his own as he laughed at his own joke.
"But seriously, that is one damn good ship for being modified like that, without our help."
Partinax replied, "It helps to be prepared. We knew the strategic value of battlecruisers when they were used during the Krogan Rebellions, but it became too expensive to keep them in active service. So some of our older heavy cruisers have modular construction, just in case."
Graham grunted appreciatively as he took a bite out of his strange square wheat confection.
The Bolo was once again attached to an assault transport, its guns rotating towards the token Reaper force that flew out to face them. They opened like flowers to futilely try and damage the transport.
"Weapons free, Hector."
Partinax winced as the Bolo shuddered, firing one of its massive guns. Just like that, a destroyer disappeared from the observer seat's tactical display.
Graham seemed uninterested, finishing off his drink as the second Reaper was killed by the debris of the first.
"Hungry?" The human asked, pulling out a package of food, with "Dextro-Amino Acids" clearly labeled across the top.
Partinax raised his eyebrows in surprise, yet careful to remain in control, "In the middle of a battle?"
"These things are light-minutes apart, and neither of us are admirals. You don't have to worry about coordinating the troops until we get into orbit, and you insisted upon observing the battle from Hector's command deck. So please, accept my hospitality."
Wordlessly the Turian accepted, and before he could even ask, a tray popped out of the wall with Turian cutlery.
Hesitantly, he opened the package. It contained a Varren steak! Interesting, usually humans couldn't get very good food for visiting Turians.
Is this how his people always fight? He began to wonder, considering all the personal amenities on the command deck, Sitting comfortably in their giant tanks while hell rages around them? It hardly seems appropriate.
There was no answer to Partinax's musings; only a deep "chunk" from the hull signaling the release of a missile, as it soared out to seek a distant target.
"General Graham, enemy fighters inbound." The AI called Hector reported, several handfuls of red indicators appearing on the tactical display.
"Don't use any expendables on them. Energy weapons only. Let the new fighters handle them."
The Turian general watched as the score of Starfuries, along with the older standard fighter craft, assaulted the Reaper fighters that had survived their mothership's destruction.
The Starfuries, despite the utilization of mass effect fields in standard hierarchy fighters, were still far more maneuverable in space than their normal counterparts simply due to their geometric shapes. They annihilated enemies left and right, lazily running rings around them as they went.
Some enemy fighters however, decided to make a run for Hector's assault transport, attempting to at least damage it to prevent the war machine from advancing.
They would have no such luck. Roughly a dozen were cut out of the sky by laser clusters, before the lasers slowly stopped firing. Closer and closer the enemy fighters came.
Alarmed, Partinax looked over at the contemporary general, eating his own meal. He looked merely bored, but noticed Partinax's look.
"Come on, Hector, stop playing with them."
"If you insist." The AI replied with an electronic chuckle.
The Reaper fighters, instead of firing on the thruster units or magnetic clamps, simply soared right by the transport.
Partinax quickly glanced at the observer tactical display for the according position, but only found green indicators...Green? Red is a hostile, blue is friendly, what's green?
Graham chuckled as if reading the Turian's thoughts, "Cyberwarfare. Those Reaper drones had no idea who they were playing with."
The Reaper fighters came around for another pass, but instead of attacking, they slowed down to come alongside the transport. Several did barrel rolls, loop-the-loops, a few waggled their wings at approaching Turian fighters, and generally acted as silly as possible.
"I've never seen anyone hack those things before," Partinax said with a laugh, "Spirits, not even the Salarians could do that. How could you have done so?"
Hector's precise and baritone voice, unfiltered by external speakers, replied "My cyberwarfare suites are extremely capable at hacking into many enemy systems, General Partinax," The Turian was slightly unsettled at the ease with which the human-sounding voice was able to so easily pronounce his name, "The process is difficult to explain, and would take too much time to do so. I respectfully request that in the future you refrain from asking this type of question in the middle of a battlefield."
Graham grinned at the flustered Turian, "Don't mind him. He's done that to me a couple of times. He reviewed my personnel records, said I wasn't qualified to give him orders, and pretty much told me to mind my own damn business. Managed to convince him, eventually." He patted the arm of his seat affectionately.
"I still don't think you're qualified to give orders in space combat, general. Nor are the pilots of this vessel. Calculating time to hack into guidance systems..." Hector spoke, deadpan.
"Ha ha, Hector. You're gonna scare all our new friends away." Partinax realized his fists had involuntarily clenched after the AI's comment, and slowly uncurled them.
After a moment, it occurred to Partinax that he should try and get some information. He asked "So, why did your people build this...Bolo? What enemy were you intending to fight? And why Thirty-three variants? And AI?"
The last question was asked in a mild hiss, and Graham felt a twinge of anger.
He still didn't understand their suspicion. AI were their friends! The Geth it seemed had only fought out of self defense, and nearly...wiped out an entire species. The Reapers probably started out as some self-replicating...sentient war machine…
His anger faded.
Okay, so maybe they do have some cause to be suspicious...
Graham took a breath, and replied "We started building them centuries ago, the Earth year 2000. They were just automated M1 Abrams. After the Great Collapse, because of their usefulness in saving people during that conflict, and their destructive ability, we started using them in our standard military. Eventually they evolved to be planetary defense units, once the Hellbores were created, and over the centuries we used them to protect ourselves from every creature that tried to wipe us out.
"We used AI to further automate the things and make them the most effective fighting force we had. Thirty-three variants? 'Cause they've come a long way from those little Abrams they once were."
Partinax nodded approvingly, "Good idea, actually. Protecting colonies without an expensive crew and warship, but with a single one-person super-heavy tank. The AI could be more controlled, though…"
Seeing Graham's look, he quickly changed the subject, "We looked into planetary defense batteries, but they take a while to install, are very vulnerable, and expensive. It would be great just to have a Bolo or two with a fraction of the power yours has..."
Graham's smile returned, "Well, I don't want to get your hopes up, but a few factories may have been repurposed to make, I don't know, some brand new super-heavy tanks…And I could make sure that their first deliveries may or may not be to a certain Turian general..."
Partinax slumped back in his seat, "Why do I feel lightheaded all of a sudden?"
For several hours afterwards, they talked and laughed, the ice finally thawing. Hellbores continued to pound as the Reapers fell back, unwilling to take the casualties they were receiving.
My number 4 and 6 secondary Hellbores destroy a Sovereign-class Reaper, the last one still in orbit, as I direct the assault transport to take up position above the Turian colony.
My commandeered fighters mop up the surviving enemy single craft. The Oculus-type fighter is actually an excellent design, when used properly. It's unfortunate that the Reapers waste them on wave-attacks, similar to the way infantry were employed by the pre-spaceflight 20th century Soviet Union or Imperial Japanese Army during the Second World War. They could have minimized casualties, and still had experienced troops left if wave-tactics had been rejected in favor of proper maneuvers.
I make a note to bring some of the Oculus-type onboard for study. Risk of indoctrination is potentially problematic, unfortunately. My sensors have been unable to detect electromagnetic fields reported from Reaper artifacts, though I remain cautious.
The understrength Turian 3rd Carrier Task Force is hanging back on my instructions, unwilling to risk heavy casualties. They did not protest or second-guess my judgement, for once.
Unfortunate that Turian High Command could not send a larger or at least a full strength unit. However, the defense of what colonies they still have does take priority, I will admit.
Retaking this colony should be relatively easy, but my suspicions continue to be aroused. In all previous engagements, the Reapers engaged with what they deemed to be a fair amount of force. However, few have actually attempted to damage my hull, or the maneuvering thrusters of this assault transport.
They seem to be withdrawing to the other side of the system, and Reaper forces are of much lower concentration than they had been during the last Turian reconnaissance flights.
Unusual, but evidence only points to one conclusion. They are reconsidering their strategy, and don't want to risk their forces receiving further damage.
Interesting. They normally do not care for the casualties they take, unless they are extremely high.
They are afraid of me.
Logically, they cannot experience the emotion, they merely are being self-preservent. However, for lack of a better term, they fear me, as proven by executing a tactical withdrawal out of fear that I might destroy them.
Let them fear me. My only concern is for the destruction of the Enemy, and preservation of my allies.
"General Partinax, General Graham. Would you like to send a signal to those trapped on the planet below? It could provide a great morale boost, and serve to send the Reapers into further disarray."
"Oh sure, Hector. But I'll let Partinax have the honors." Graham replies, and I activate all communication arrays.
"This is General Partinax of the Turian Hierarchy Army. People of Taetrus, homeworld has not abandoned you, I have not abandoned you. We have returned, with allies. Look to the sky, and see what our human friends can do. Fight back, and we will retake Taetrus with your help within hours."
Interesting speech. Short, yet rousing.
I am now tracking several large Reaper vessels, that have suddenly taken off from the opposite side of the planet, with significant numbers of friendly personnel aboard.
I instruct the fleet to approach and bombard those Reapers that cannot take off, while I maneuver towards the other side of the planet.
The Reapers cannot be allowed to receive more soldiers. According to sensor data, many have not been inside the transports long enough to be indoctrinated; they were rushed aboard when we arrived in-system, and have not gone through the proper preparation.
Hopefully, something can be done for those who have been aboard too long. According to MRI scans, those who still are able to be reasoned with are theoretically savable. Nanite surgery might be able to repair the damage to their brains, but I am unsure. Developing medical treatments are jobs for doctors, despite my immense knowledge.
My 200cm Hellbores are out of the question, they would cause too much damage to the enemy hulls, and potentially force the captives out into space.
My 20cm Hellbores could cause too much damage as well. I must reduce their power, and aim carefully.
I also ready several VLS silos. Several missiles equipped with Multiple Independently targetable Vehicle warheads should be satisfactory to eliminate engines.
XXXXX
The mass of Turians in the belly of the Reaper huddled together as the monster creaked and shuddered under the strain of speed.
Fear was virtually all that kept the group in check, despite their superior numbers over the guarding marauders, who looked upon them with terrifying, unblinking eyes. They carried hierarchy firearms, and several still wore tattered uniforms signifying that had been sailors or marines, furthering the terror every female, male, and youngling felt.
One female in particular stood in the center, looking about, attempting to find out what was the cause of the strain instead of cowering.
She wore standard fatigues, but lacked any kind of rank insignia. They appeared to have been ripped off, actually, and though the patterning of the fatigues was the same, they were black with yellow highlights; this tended to signify special ops troops.
However, the Reapers weren't interested in special ops, they only wanted the intelligent, the charismatic, the officers, the scientists...And the biotics.
They hadn't found many Turian biotics. They wanted more.
This was why Lieutenant Nilea Kyrik always kept her hood up. She didn't want those damn marauders to see the base of her neck.
"Kyrik, You know what's going on?" A companion, oddly enough a human, by the name Warrant Officer Dwayne Hicks, asked. He had been an N7 destroyer once, but now his armor was battered and beaten, many pieces ripped out to lessen the weight the destroyed servos had carried; the rocket launcher smashed beyond recognition, and the arm-mounted grenade launcher ripped out.
"The Reaper's hull is straining. Feel that pressure? It's the inertial dampeners acting at full power."
"Why does that matter?"
"When was the last time you were able to feel the speed of a ship?"
"On the shuttle I tried to take-oh...They're trying to get away from something?"
She nodded. "I wonder what...I've never seen a Reaper afraid of something before."
The entire room's lights flickered for a second, and for a brief moment the prisoners felt no acceleration from the engines...just before they were flung across the room, towards the side facing aft.
"Get 'em!" Someone yelled, the fear replaced by anger. The already-beaten and battered Reaper soldiers were torn to shreds by the angry prisoners within seconds.
Kyrik grabbed the head of the marauder closest to her, and with a snarl, twisted.
The neck snapped with a wet pop and the sparking of electrical circuits, as she grabbed its weapon, and wiped the blood off with what remained of the creature's uniform. She did take the body's ID tags that were still on a chain hung around its neck, however.
The marauder had been a Turian once. His loved ones would want to know what happened.
Kyrik checked the thermal clip of the weapon, threw down her hood, and synched the gun up with her HUD.
As several others around moaned in pain, with their limbs at odd angles, Kyrik wondered how she had survived without any damage…
"LT…" a voice coughed under her.
She looked down, and noticed that her knee was accidentally on her friend's neck, "Oh, sorry Hicks!"
"It's okay," He wheezed, "Armor took most of it...And I've got blood to spare…"
"Don't I know it. Mr. Bloodmobile. Get up, I've got medi-gel."
After their wounded were treated, the group realized the Reaper's internal defenses weren't working. The enemy hadn't tried killing them at all during their riot.
"Alright everyone, the longer we're aboard this thing, the less chance we have of getting home!" Kyrik cried, "So quit crying, we're Turians! No fear! Get on your feet, and let's blow some shit up!"
XXXXX
The Reaper could do nothing as its sensors detected some of the fresher organics momentarily override indoctrination. It was too busy dealing with the intense pain it was feeling from its engine sensors, and the damage across all internal systems.
Its main gun was offline, engines were offline, it was drifting in space on momentum alone; in addition, many of the vermin pens had broken open, and the few soldiers onboard were being pushed back from critical areas.
They would not succeed. The geometry of the Reaper's rooms, and the fields would slowly overcome them, and then-
Abruptly, there was an explosion directly ahead. Fragments bounced off the hull as the Reaper realized the explosion had not been the destruction of a friendly vessel, or a premature detonation.
It was designed to slow the Reaper down.
It scanned the surrounding area, despite the damaged sensors, and managed to lock onto an organic ship, firing weapons of incredible power from the polar orbit of the former holding.
It was no ordinary spacecraft. It was the primitive war machine. The abomination. Coming for them.
It was intent on taking the Turian colony, and terminating as many Reapers as it could.
Curious...The Reaper detected fellows in similar situations, stranded without power and drifting, instead of complete destruction.
Even stranger, the targets seemed to be random, those that were targeted were not incapacitated in any particular order.
The only characteristic unique to each of the targeted ships were their large holding capacity...
The Reaper checked its logs. Virtually none of the conscripts loaded onboard had been through proper processing. They had not yet been entranced.
It reached out to the others within signal range, and they sent back similar results.
The abomination had also only used its guided munitions, and lighter megaton-yield weapons; using both to destroy the engines of destroyers and capital ships, and cease their movement.
There was only one conclusion.
It's trying to recover us intact, and retrieve its filthy allies. the Reaper realized, just as it detected the abomination on a docking course.
Desperately, as it felt the machine enter its network, the Reaper tried to initiate a core meltdown.
Accursed insects! The rebelling conscripts had damaged something critical.
Requesting assistance! Repeat-equesting-ssistance-
The distress call the Reaper tried to send out was cut off piece by piece as each communications array was knocked out, one after another.
Closer and closer the abomination came.
The insects were crawling around in the Reaper's brain. It could feel mental blockages breaking, the minds of the long dead entering its thoughts as the mind fragmented.
Screams. Demands. Questions. Hatred. A hatred that began to burn.
A hatred of itself.
The Reaper couldn't operate, couldn't function, it was falling apart from the inside...
Mercifully, something disconnected.
XXXXX
"Whoo! Eat that, you Reaper shit-ass fuck!"
Kyrik had no idea how the youngling had picked up language like that so fast, he wasn't old enough for mandatory service. She wasn't surprised though, she herself also picked up a few new curses while on Taetrus, and about a dozen in the prison camp.
"Nice work, kid! That ought to slow it down!" said Hicks as he pulled the youngling back up onto the ledge they stood on.
There was a fire below that quickly began to spread from the area the youngling had sabotaged, and their "ledge" was more or less a crossbeam. They were in a wide corridor for some sort of cabling, and had seemed like the best place to do some damage.
"Alright, my drone managed to get a map down to where the shuttles are before it crapped out, so we can get out of here!" An engineer they had picked up was typing rapidly into his omni-tool.
"Thanks...trooper," she had no idea what the guy's name was. "Everyone! Follow us! We have a way out!" Kyrik cried, getting the mob around them gathered up, just before another impact upon the hull knocked them onto the deck again.
"That someone shooting at us?" Hicks shouted.
"No...There aren't any new alerts...Maybe debris? The engines are out, so we might have bumped into a dead ship."
"Attention all friendly personnel..." A voice came over a PA.
"Since when did Reapers have loudspeakers?" Kyrik muttered as she raised her weapon.
"This is General Partinax of the Taetrus Expeditionary Force. All friendly personnel, get to the nearest shuttle bay or docking port within 20 minutes. We're here to rescue you. Be ready to relinquish weapons on arrival, we don't know how many of you have been indoctrinated."
Before the general had even finished speaking, the carefully arranged POW units broke apart, rushing for wherever they could go, knowing that death or a flimsy shuttle wasn't the only way out now.
After several minutes of running through the giant Reaper, Kyrik's small band reached the nearest airlock, knowing not everyone would be able to fit in the captured shuttles; they had to secure another docking port to get everyone off.
The first one they found had a rescue party assembling a barricade before it; as Kyrik's group and others arrived, their weapons leveled towards the former prisoners.
"Same team guys! Same team!" Hicks yelled, desperate to get off the nightmare of a starship, but putting up his hands, rifle held above his head.
"You all heard the general. We don't know how many of you have been indoctrinated," the lead Turian officer growled, his pistol aimed right at Hick's chest, "So put the gun down, human. You might be able to get out of here."
The warrant officer looked to Kyrik, who sighed, then nodded approval; she carefully placed her weapon down, and kicked it towards the rescuers.
"Thank you!" the rescue leader said loudly in an irritated/relieved tone.
Slowly they were moved into the transport, being carefully searched for weapons as they did so.
Occasionally the ship would shudder and groan as debris slammed into the hull, and the former prisoners moved even faster.
XXXXX
Location: Unknown
The ancient, but shining sleek vessel slowly crept closer to the blue and white freighter approaching.
Fine maneuvers were made as docking tubes extended, bursts of gas escaping from each ship silently to complete the union.
Finally, the ships were linked, their motions matching perfectly, as the insects that controlled them scurried about within.
Three Quarians strode purposely through their stealth vessel, moving towards the primary docking port.
Of the three, two were large and strong-looking, unmistakably soldiers judging by their posture...And being armed to the faceplate with weaponry.
The third, the leader, wore a basic, but good-looking envirosuit. Most of the torso was colored in shades of black with some silver highlights(though mainly along the arms), a glowing grey faceplate, and no additional armor plating; and only a single sidearm for a weapon.
Her guards were dressed much the same, and the party's weaponry was sleeker and more well taken care of than even the best Turian soldier's.
They entered their own airlock, allowing it to depressurize and give them access to the umbilical.
They strode quickly across, entering the other side as soon as it was opening.
There stood a Batarian member of the Blue Suns, dressed in their typical armor and grinning an evil grin.
"Welcome aboard, suit rats," He snarled in a patronizing tone, "I'm afraid we're going to have to relieve you of your wea-"
The deck thumped as the Quarian marine stomped over and loomed above the merc.
The leader behind the marine either knowingly or unknowingly tilted her head to the right.
The Batarian refused to be intimidated. The very idea of a Quarian being superior to him-
The next thing he knew he was lying in fetal position on the deck plating, holding his stomach and struggling to breath.
"Which way to the cargo bay?" The female Quarian hissed.
The other guard, a human, shot his arm out to the right, "T-t-that way, to the right, and take another right." and began perspiring as the Quarians walked by.
They exited the docking port, moved down the spine of the modular vessel, and took another right.
Within stood a squad of Blue Suns, with one Batarian ringleader sitting in a chair in the center of the cargo module.
His armor was little different from the others...They learned something from Omega at least. He was leaning back in his seat, arms folded over his chest, head cocked to the right, and his foot rested upon a large rectangular crate before him.
It was a blank, non-descript crate, with several cylinders and other containers with the same total lack of identification.
"So, the high and mighty Quarians have shown at last." The Batarian sneered, "Took you long enough. What? Did your ship break down?"
The other guards laughed mildly when he gave them a look.
The Quarian leader was unfazed, and leaned back, crossing her own arms over her chest, and cocking her head to the right.
"I see you haven't gotten around to getting rid of that corpse smell your perspiration makes. How can you stand existing in that? When it can make it through my filters, I can only imagine how terrible it must be for everyone who works with you."
Several coughs filled the chamber, the guards cutting off their own genuine laughter.
Batarians were not to be treated as lowlives by a suit rat whore!
But, this was still business. The Batarian forced himself to take a breath, and narrowed his gaze. "The payment?"
The Quarian nodded to a marine, and he tossed a briefcase onto the large crate. "How quaint," the Batarian laughed, "Do you still use paper money in the flotilla?"
"What is in that case is your payment, regardless of its format. Now, hand over the merchandise."
The Batarian laughed again, "Oh, you stupid bitch. Why would I do that?"
Weapons clicked and clacked around the Quarian fireteam, "I lost a lot of funds, men, and equipment getting this stuff, half of it to the master thief who got the damn thing off the Citadel, and all of it was worth way more than what you are paying me. So I figure, take the stuff, if it's worth so much to the Quarians as compensation, and, why not hold the crew for ransom, and get a nice ship out of it?"
He grinned wolfishly, expecting the whore to wither and beg for mercy.
To his complete surprise, she began to cackle. Not laugh, cackle. For a long time, the marines just glared(or assumed to be, judging by their eye shape) at the lead Batarian, as the other mercs stared dumbfounded at the female Quarian.
"I have you at gunpoint, I could space you at any moment, I'm probably going to sell you, a major Quarian official into slavery. What in the name of all the gods could possibly be funny?"
She finally ceased her frightening cackle. "I don't know. If I had me at gunpoint, those wouldn't be my first choices."
The unfortunate Batarian guarding the airlock to the Quarian ship reached for the control panel, the boarding party assembled behind him.
Those arrogant world-less suit rats would pay for humiliating him.
There was a clank on the other side of the door.
Clank. Another.
Clank.
Clank.
His mind went into slow motion, and he turned equally slow. He had to tell them…
The signals hadn't even reached his feet before the shrapnel tore through his skull.
"Hull breach. Docking port 1. All personnel evacuate all adjacent sectors." The computer voice rang through the cargo bay as the Quarian cackled again.
There was a thud, and several more pounding sounds as a live body hit the window that made the roof of the cargo compartment.
"What have you done!?" The Batarian pointed an accusing finger at the lead Quarian, who smirked under her helmet.
"Merely a precaution. I knew your reputation, you insect. Quarians are much more resourceful than you believe."
She pulled her sidearm out, and pointed its laser sight into one of the Batarian's eyes, "As a side note, when I am old, there is something I will look back upon with enormous pride. And that something is killing you."
The round tore the side of his head apart, and he fell to the ground with a meaty thud. The rest of the guards aimed their weapons at the Quarian, who merely cackled yet again and pointed upwards.
There were four more Quarians out there. Attaching something to the window.
"Everybody out, everybody-"
Explosive decompression tore the crew out instantly, leaving the the Quarian female impatiently tapping her foot as the marines quickly moved forward, and hit the largest container with the butts of their rifles.
It refused to budge, and they gave the thumbs-up.
The female looked up, and ensured that the marine fireteam had retrieved the rest of the equipment not stuck to the floor with magnets. Several more reverberations resounded through the hull, signaling the deaths of the rest of the crew.
"Marines, ensure that the crew never received the chance to transmit a message. You were a few moments off in your timing. Improve on the next strike. You two," she pointed to her escort, "Make sure that the armor is still intact. I did not go through all this effort to be beaten by a Batarian."
"Ma'am? Are you sure?"
"Of course I am, you simpleton. You know not to question my orders."
Carefully, one of the marines pulled out a specially-designed crowbar, and hooked it up to a corner as he made sure he was standing firmly to prevent any spin; the other held the panel onto the crate as his fellow unscrewed each of the bolts holding it in.
Just as carefully, they moved the lid from the top, and looked upon the crate made of...Some unknown alloy.
It was painted mainly in blue, with three silver stripes lying diagonally across the center. In the top left corner was some sort of identification code, beginning with the prefix "Powered Exoskeleton-BDU Mk. 3".
"Excellent. Proceed as planned."
"Yes, Admiral."
XXXXX
Codex Updated
Starfury- One of the few truly universal concepts in the galaxy amongst species, the starfury is a fighter designed purely for space combat. It utilizes sixteen individual thrusters mounted on four struts that reach out from the center of the craft; they are mounted to allow for the greatest range of movement. As a result of this geometric design the starfury is a craft universally developed across all species, and is one of the most maneuverable craft ever conceived despite the usage of mass effect technology.
Unfortunately, due to its space-only design, many species have rejected this craft as their premier fighter in favor of small craft that use more fuel and are less maneuverable, but can operate in almost any atmosphere.
However, with the heavy losses sustained in space combat against the Reapers, militaries are searching for every advantage they can get; Most pilots cannot survive long enough for aerodynamic designs to be of any use. In addition, the maneuverability and propulsion problems caused by the atmospheric designs are becoming more prevalent. As a result the starfury is re-entering production on several planets, and new designs are being developed to allow these powerful craft to fight in atmosphere.
Armament consists of two omni-directional mass accelerators and hardpoints for additional weaponry.