Parallax

By Celtican

Three: There's Nothing to Shoot on Eden Prime

Ashley

"Chief, will you look over the ammo controller on my Lancer again?"

Ashley Williams looked up from the scope of her rifle, meeting a set of green eyes belonging to a very nervous, very green private. A slight frown creased her brow. "Again, Nelson?" she asked.

Private Nelson, a lanky teen fresh out of basic, nodded and scratched the back of her neck. "Yes ma'am, I think I uh...bricked the overheat sensor...again. Ma'am," she stammered. She gingerly placed the closed assault rifle on Ashley's workbench, like a supplicant making an offering to a vengeful goddess.

Ashley sighed. This would make the fourth repair to Nelson's weapon since the private joined up with the 212 a month ago. Nelson had an annoying tendency to reflexively waste ammunition when something startled her. Ash made a mental note to bring it up to the LT when she saw him again.

The simple combination of a quiet posting and no major combat beyond the occasional two-bit smugglers or pirates meant that there was simply nothing to shoot on Eden Prime. Gas bags for target practice or to blow off steam, yeah, but certainly nothing requiring full auto. Ashley's friend and fellow marine, Nirali Bhatia, chalked it up to nerves from finding the Prothean artifact three weeks ago. It was priceless tech, and priceless items lying around upgraded the chances of pirates hitting the dig site from exceptionally rare to bloody likely. Not to mention increasing the chances of pirates who dealt in blood. Or worse.

A few minutes with an omni-tool and some elbow grease saw the assault rifle in working order again. "Alright, done," Ash said. "Remember what I told you on the firing range...burst fire is your friend."

Nelson nodded gratefully. "Right...sight, breathe in, squeeze, release, breathe out. I'll do better this time, chief."

"Do your best, Nelson. Dism-"

Ashley's response was by the rear of the armory collapsing, a rush of wind and splintered pre-fab plastipanel knocking both women to the floor. Ash was on her feet again in seconds. She grabbed for her rifle among a pile of tools and parts, tossing a stunned and bleeding Nelson the freshly repaired Lancer. To the younger woman's credit, she popped the gun open as she caught it.

Ashley opened her hardsuit's comm. "Crane-2 to Crane Base, come in!" Static. Fuck, not now, Ortiz, not one of your smoke breaks! She repeated the call, squinting towards the back of the armory as the dust settled. Again, static. "Fuck me sideways," she hissed under her breath. Nelson jerked her rifle from side to side, her finger mercifully off the trigger.

The static resolved itself, finally allowing a voice through the chaos. "Crane-4 to Crane-2," Nirali's accented voice replied, "Crane Base is-" gunfire "-peat Crane Base is KO'd. Requesting rendezvous site." More gunfire erupted over the comm. Ashley felt her insides turn to gelatin. Lieutenant Tate, Sergeant Coyne, Private Ortiz...gone, just like that.

"Copy that, Crane-4. RDV at the dig site, if we have hostiles. Grab anyone you can find on the way. I have Nelson. Williams out." Ashley turned, grabbing her own rifle off the workbench. "Private' we have to..."

Her voice died in her throat when she saw the silver and blue mechanical bodies with flashlight heads. Saw them holding Nelson over a strange, tripod-like device. Nelson, too horrified to scream, met Ashley's eyes. A loud ka-chunk; blood fountained out of her mouth as a six-foot titanium spike erupted through her abdomen, raising her into the air like a pinned butterfly in a science exhibit.

Ashley backed up slowly, one step, two. By three, she was running as if the hordes of Hell were behind her. As she ran, she took stock of what she had with her. Her sidearm, the rifle she'd been working on, her hard suit; that was about it. She needed to meet up with Bhatia and the others, to take command, protect the colony and the dig site. Doing this allowed her to stuff the panic down deep; she needed to be in the now, and process what she saw later.

The late afternoon sky was bloody orange, the sunlight painting the landscape in wildfire and blood. Dark shapes dotted the colony below the ridge she ran on. Here and there the flashlight faced robots took up positions, setting up more tripod things, getting ready to spill more human blood. Ashley stumbled, the rage and confusion inside her anesthetizing the painful lance that shot up from her ankle. She kept running.

The dig site appeared, and she saw three or four (three or four oh shit the 212 was 75 strong why so many gone were they like Nelson) armored figures holding back more of the flashlight creatures. The machines were advancing forward quickly, supported by some automated drones that whittled away kinetic barriers like water against rock. Ashley dropped into a crouch, drawing a target into scope as her knee touched the dirt. She dropped two of the drones before the robots saw her. All but two turned to face where the shots originated from, but Ashley was already moving, ducking behind rocks and trees as she went. She stopped to breathe, squeeze off a shot, then move on to a new position. In a matter of minutes, she or her pinned teammates had the squad of synthetics cleaned up.

Breathing hard, Ashley jogged up to the group. "Report," she ordered, seamlessly transitioning into command until she was told to do otherwise. After all, when the chain of command is in snarls, nothing gets done until someone shows up with a plan. Or, when they show up willing to make it up as they go along.

Serviceman Bhatia turned. "Jesus Christ, what are those things, Chief?" She gave a quick salute before returning to patching up grazes and cuts with medi-gel.

"I don't know, but they're coming on hard." Ash took stock of the survivors from the 212 base. Herself, Bhatia, Servicemen Moore and Johnson, Quartermaster Gherig. That was all. Damn it all... she shoved the fear down into her guts again - process it later - and started planning. "Ok. Johnson, punch up a distress call to the SSV Normandy. That's the ship that was coming to pick up the beacon, they should be in the system by now. Moore, Gherig, take point. Bhatia, suppression fire, I'll take the rear. Let's press on to...GET DOWN!" She bellowed the last, snatching her assault rifle off her back and laying down some quick bursts of suppression fire. Moore of the flashlight heads were coming in, and if they were pissed about Ashley aceing their buddies in the other squad, they didn't show it. They were cold, methodical, precise machines of death. She heard Johnson frantically recording a distress message, beaming it out to wherever their backup was. She knocked Gherig aside as she struggled to close the gaps in their flanks.

Moore gasped. "What is that?!"

A huge gust of wind staggered her, and a midnight blue shape in the sky caught her peripheral vision. She turned, and the slippery cool fear critter she'd been fighting to bury for the last twenty minutes snaked up and grabbed her by the lizard brain.

It was a ship. A huge, steel-blue ship. It looked like a weird combination of squid and cuttlefish. Its tentacles reached for the ground like a demonic hand, like the Devil himself snatching at the colony's namesake. A strange, braying hum filled the air, rattling Ashley's teeth.

Ashley sighted down the assault rifle's barrel, took a breath, and silently prayed to her God.

The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want...