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TUNTAU
PHOENIX SYSTEM
ARGOS RHO CLUSTER
ATTICAN TRAVERSE
MAY 9, 2014
Luther Tull stepped through the kinetic barrier that separated the hostile atmosphere on the outside of the vehicle from its safely pressurized interior. He grimaced behind the mask of his pressurized helmet as he unclipped the Holbars T-8 assault rifle from his armor; it was a virtually featureless rectangular box now, but a buttplate, pistol grip and stubby telescopic sight unfolded when he tapped a button, while a barrel and a thinner rod sprouted from the front. Damn volus knockoffs. It was bad enough that he and the stick of ghouloons he had with him had to use a turian-designed APC, but the volus had managed to make it even seemingly more confined and ergonomically unpleasant. Course, it could just be the size of these boys here, he thought as he looked at the four large shapes in black armor and helmets shaped for their muzzles, milling around slightly after the cramped ride and hooting softly to each other as they looked around, their own SAW-4 light machine guns already held easily in their bulky arms.
His eyes became hooded as he contemplated the avian race that was one of the triumvirate of species that made up the Citadel Council. He had seen a lot of friends die on Vritra 2 during the Turian War. All 'cause we tried to open an unmapped mass relay. An' they call us Draka trigger happy. While the Turian Hierarchy had been forced by the Council to pay reparations to the Domination it was, to Luther's mind, not nearly enough. Now they've up and gotten friendly with the Yankees too. It was proof to him that the turians were implacable enemies to the Draka, ones who needed to be shown their place.
After the Turian War he and most of the other survivors of the original Vritra 2 colonial force had been sent back to Earth for anti-partisan tours in eastern North America after a debriefing and some leave. Officially there hadn't been any censure, and they had been told unofficially that their experience as holdouts against the turian occupation force would provide a unique perspective in hunting the Yankee bushmen. But there had still been the sense, though, that they had been exiled to one of the roughest active sectors in the New Territories. They'd had no trouble taking out their anger and frustration on the local population. Bad timing for those holdouts to launch that attack on the Security Directorate HQ in Lynchburg. Luther and the others had overseen the impaling of the remaining population of the city along the sides of US Route 501 in reprisal, lining them up towards the Blue Ridge Mountains where the bushmen in the region were based.
Then the Council had mediated the expulsion of most of the surviving civilian population from Earth to Samothrace and there had been scarcely anyone to hit back against for the outrages committed by the bushmen. The idea of using biobombs had been floated, but it was deemed too risky with the Council keeping an eye on the Domination. So the particularly difficult spots of North America – the Appalachians, the Sierra Madres, the Rockies, the Northwestern and Yukon Territories, and Alaska – had been turned into Reserves where the War Directorate's forces could keep sharp, and for the occasional Citizen who wanted game more exciting than any on four legs could book a hunting tour.
After some killsweeps through the Adirondacks and the Laurentian Mountains during his final tour where he had earned the Anti-Partisan Cross, Luther had finally been pulled from that gods forsaken continent of radioactive ruins, empty towns, and hostile mountains. That was when the Intelligence Section had contacted him.
Some grit blew into the visor of his helmet and the drakensis turned away from the blowing wind, taking a moment to look around. Tuntau was a forever overcast planet with a thick atmosphere of methane and helium. The ground was mostly oddly blue salt flats scattered with silicon dioxide. "Or sand as we regular folk like to call it," he muttered as he nudged some around with the toe of his armor.
Off to the south was an odd pyramid, most of it constructed of some grayish material while the tip was made of some jet black metal. Prothean, most likely. Any artifacts have prob'ly been looted a long time ago. He wondered briefly why the batarians had chosen this spot, then shrugged. Likely 'cause it's the only landmark this hunk of rock has, he thought as he turned to the ghouloons and whistled sharply through the headset built into his armor to get their attention. When they looked over, he pointed to the pyramid, saying, "I want one of y'all up theah to keep a lookout. Stay in radio contact." One of them brought a fist to his chest in salute and collapsed his machine gun, clipping it onto the back of his armor before falling to all fours and sprinting for the alien structure.
With things quiet for the moment, Luther let his mind wander as his eyes tracked the surrounding landscape automatically for threats, skills learned in Basic Training and honed to a knife edge on Vritra 2 and in North America. His drakensis mind could handle the requisite multitasking; they had been bred for intelligence, memory, and mental applications, though they had lost true creativity in the process.
His mouth quirked as he recalled the latest scandal to hit Citizen society back on Earth. Covington Coemer, Arch-Strategos and hero of the Eurasian War alongside Eric von Shrakenberg – who, indeed, had served under him in the same unit – had died a few years ago and had had his book, The Big Lie, posthumously published. In it he tore into the 'illusions' and 'assumptions' of Draka society, as well as the sparkling image of his former commanding officer. The Security Directorate, who monitored all published literature, had eventually let it be published not long ago, if only to tarnish the heretofore immaculate legend of the Archon who had won the Sol and Turian Wars.
Views about the aim and truthfulness of the book had been mixed, especially since Coemer tore his own image asunder as much as von Shrakenberg's, the Domination's, and even the drakensis'. I especially like how the cantankerous old bastard calls us mutants no closer to human than chimpanzees, he thought with a soft chuckle. Many had reached the conclusion that it was a farcical work with the aim of puncturing the self-importance of a Domination riding too high on victory disease after defeating the Alliance for Democracy and winning their first encounter with an alien race. I suppose he figured it was the last service he could do for the State and the Race. Though there were unsettling points made in the late Arch-Strategos' account, they were largely ignored when placed against appreciation for the majority interpretation of the work as a whole.
"Sir." Over the headset in a blurred and gravelly but understandable tone: the ghouloon lookout. "Rover approaching. Northeast."
Luther turned his head and peered in that direction, his acute eyesight just making out the raising of dust. "Acknowledged," he replied. "Jus' stay up there fo' now. The rest of you, stay sharp." He did another scan of their surroundings, scanning the horizon for other vehicles. Seeing nothing, he looked back towards the approaching dust plume and waited stolidly.
Perched a ledge of dark rock covered with a thick layer of sand a little under a mile away, Janet Lefarge watched the Draka squad through the scope mounted atop her new Springfield-20 assault rifle. The New Springfield Armory was just starting to get production of domestic weaponry underway, trying to wean Samothrace off of the turian arms they had been purchasing for the past decade. The rest of her squad were armed with Haliat Armory small arms, one of the smaller turian manufacturers that had been given permission by the Hierarchy to sell excess units on the galactic market. They were basic weapons, but sound and of high quality.
There were a dozen of them, including her; eleven humans and one drell. She had been surprised by the presence of the non-human – Can't really call him an alien, living on the same planet and all – but it had faded quickly. The Institute didn't operate by the same rules as the regular military, and he had kept up with the rest of them when they had left their rovers on the other side of the mountain and climbed over it for a good vantage point on this meeting, especially as the gravity was slightly heavier than the Terran norm.
She was laying on her stomach, only the rifle and the top of her head visible over the ledge. All of them were trained in fieldcraft for a variety of environments and they had a box of very sophisticated electronics with them to avoid detection.
"I count four ghouloons and one humanoid, probably drakensis," one of the two snipers said over her headset. "One on the pyramid, rest waiting down below."
"Ignore the one on the pyramid," she responded. The ghouloons all looked to be armed with light machine guns, not a credible threat at this range, and that one was even further away from them than the rest. "Chaiseri, Krios, keep them in your sights."
"Target acquired," the Siamese sniper answered.
"Target acquired," the drell confirmed.
Janet raised her head briefly to catch sight of the dust plume, then peered at it through the scope. Another APC, this one a batarian model. Six wheeled, no mounted weapons. Probably armored against anything we were able to bring with us. Wish we had something heavier. Weapons research had shown that heavy infantry weapons designs brought with them from Sol, like a pazooka or bomblet launcher, were useless against composite materials formed in ultra dense mass effect fields. And heavier infantry arms had been one thing the Hierarchy hadn't been willing to sell them; their military held its technological secrets very close, infantry weapons were too easy to reproduce, and they didn't want them getting into the hands of the galaxy's ubiquitous mercenary and pirate bands.
It was a bit of an insulting estimation of Samothrace's security. But if they were looking at the history of how often the Snakes' Krypteia people got their hands on our technology before the Fall, I suppose it makes sense. Samothrace had learned the lessons of the old USA and Alliance for Democracy well, but they would have to prove themselves before the turians would trust their procedures. In the mean time, it means the Armory and the Institute's R&D Department have to develop heavier weapons all on their own.
She swept the scope back towards the Draka party, observed how they were watching the approaching APC, then swept back to the vehicle. "Hold fire until my signal." We know the Snakes and the batarians are working together. What's this meeting about?
Luther Tull watched as the other APC approached. Soon he could hear the whine of its engine and the crunching of its tires over the rough, uneven terrain. Once it had come within thirty meters, Luther up his hand, palm forward, and the vehicle rolled to a stop. A few seconds later a humanoid figure emerged and approached as six others began getting out of the back compartment.
The lead figure stopped about ten meters away. "You're Tull?"
Luther inclined his head. "Luther Tull, Tetrarch, VIII Airmobile, Reconnaissance," he said in his people's etiquette upon meeting another for the first time: Name, rank, and occupation.
The batarian tilted his head to the left in his species' gesture of respect. "Tarak Ful'dah, SIU."
Luther raised an eyebrow behind the mask of his helmet. Batarian special forces. I guess when you care enough you send the very best. The Hegemony's Special Intervention Unit had a notorious reputation across Council Space and beyond. Their training program was supposed to be brutal, with a high fatality rate.
He looked the armored figure over, sizing him up, but couldn't see as much as he'd like, both due to the concealing suit and a lack of involuntary movements. Not bad. Wouldn't mind seein' him or another of these SIU boys in action though. The batarians made useful allies, but he was yet to see one that was personally formidable.
The other six began making their way over from the batarian APC as the SIU man, Tarak, continued speaking. "My superiors say that the Attican Traverse is becoming too dangerous as a conduit. The turians and the damned humans are putting too many hulls out here. There's too much of a chance of one of them stumbling over us." The batarian's voice had a flat quality to it, that of someone reciting something.
Luther shrugged his shoulders. "My people aren't afraid of fightin' off a stray frigate. That happens, then we move on to other routes."
A low chuckle from the batarian. Wotan, it is alive, the drakensis thought.
"Fair enough," the batarian said, his voice still flat but holding a bit more animation. "My superiors don't want to push the Council too far, though. If a human ship disappears it's not a big deal. But if a turian ship does... They don't like leaving their dead lying around. They take their bodies back to their homeworld, Palaven, for their spirits to be commended to their legion."
Luther knew it was a translation of the native turian, but he was struck by the irony of having a foe whose military units sounded similar to the Domination's. Never thought there'd be anyone who took their military even more seriously than we do. The turians' entire culture revolved around duty to their Hierarchy. We may say 'Service to the State', but at least our Citizens are allowed more personal freedom. He thought of the long time ago he'd last had leave, or of the variations of the military uniform he was obliged to wear most of the time. Or mostly, anyway.
"Their ships check in regularly too," Tarak continued. "If one of them falls out of contact, a fleet converges on the area in short order."
"That's all by the way," Luther replied dismissively. "We're willin' to deal with that once it actually happens." A grin stretched across his face within his helmet. "I, fo' one, wouldn't mind havin' another go with them."
The batarian shook his head. "I like your attitude, but-"
"Sir." A choked gravelly voice, with the distinct sound of hissing in the background. "Can't breath-" The transmission cut off abruptly with a spurt of static.
Luther's head turned sharply towards the pyramid. That was the lookout! "Intruder!" he snarled, enraged at the effrontery of someone trying to sneak up on him! "Get them under cover!" He raised his Holbars, bracing the buttplate against his shoulder and sighting through the scope as Tarak shouted at the six from the back of his APC and began hurrying them towards the Drakas'.
"Shit!" Janet watched as the scene of the meeting suddenly exploded into action through her scope. "Something's spooked them." A split second of thought at the sudden development, then decision crystallized. "Open fire. Take out all the armed ones and try and try to disable the vehicles. The rest of you, follow me." Hopefully they'd be able to salvage something from this after searching the bodies.
The two snipers opened fire, pulling their triggers with smooth, even pressure as the rest of them began a hurried but controlled descent down the slope.
Luther was scanning the pinnacle of the Prothean pyramid through the scope of his assault rifle when he felt the first shudder of his kinetic shields as they shed incoming fire. In the next instant he heard the distant report of the gunshot. "Sniper!" he yelled. But it didn't come from the pyramid. It came from the mountains! "Ambush!"
We've been sold out. He wasn't sure how or why, but somebody somehow had discovered this meeting and laid down a trap.
"Absolutely imperative you follow this directive should the operation be compromised." That's what the Intelligence Section officer had said. What a fuckin' waste, he thought as he fell to one knee and swung his rifle around, aiming at the six still rushing for his APC and cutting five of them down with controlled bursts, aiming automatically for head shots. They were wearing enviro-suits instead of armor, with no armor or shields to get in the way.
Everything seemed to move in slow motion as he looked around from the sight of the falling bodies. Tarak and the other batarian had their assault rifles unclipped as they dove for the ground. The shields around his stick of ghouloons were shimmering as they roared defiance, panning their machine guns around for the unseen enemies. The shields around one of them failed as he watched, and high-powered rounds punched through his helmet, sending sprays of escaping air and liquid crimson rushing out as the large figure toppled.
"Git down, damn it!" he shouted as he rolled to the dirt behind a rise of sand, dropping his assault rifle next to him and unclipping his sniper rifle. He scanned the mountains as it unfolded, his acute eyes catching sight of the distant movement descending the slope as sniper fire stitched into the sand in front of him.
His lips peeled back from his teeth in a hunter's grin as he brought the scope of the sniper rifle to his eye, bracing the buttplate against his shoulder and resting the barrel on the rise of sand in front of him. Account for the wind, lead the target. He held a breath, aimed, and Bam! and recoil hammered at his shoulder. A savage surge of satisfaction as the kinetic shields around one of the oncoming armored humanoids – asari? human? batarian? – flared and died and Bam! and the same one fell to tumble down the slope in a fall that would break bones and rupture internal organs.
Janet skidded down on her heels and backside for a particularly steep stretch down the mountain. She started to regain her feet at an increase in the grade of the slope, that turned into a controlled roll the last few feet to another ledge as the shields of the SSI trooper next to her died, the next one sending him tumbling uncontrolled down the mountain.
"Fuck," she growled. "God damn," she swore again as another trooper caught a sniper round right in the visor of her helmet as she tried to take cover on the ledge next to her. Whoever's doing the shooting is good.
She leopard-crawled to the edge and brought the scope of her S20 rifle to her eye. Most of them were down, including one of the ghouloons. The other two had taken cover behind the Draka APC, while the three live humanoids had hit the dirt behind sand drifts. All three were set up with sniper rifles, tracking and firing at the onrushing squad.
"Everyone, take cover! Chaiseri, Krios, can you get a bead on them?"
"Negative," Chaiseri responded. "The winds are gusting and they're well placed."
Response from the drell was delayed as he obviously puzzled over the human idiom before grasping it from context. "I may be able to, but I cannot guarantee success."
"Give it your best shot, then," Janet responded, her mouth stretching into a tight smile at the current literalness of another idiom.
Luther continued his aimed firing, pumping round after round into the oncoming would-be ambushers before they suddenly went to ground, taking cover. He tracked the scope back and forth.
"C'mon, show me yo' pretty faces, yo' sumbitches," he murmured.
"Tull," Tarak called over the headset. "We can't stay out here forever. Your APC is the closest. We should make a break for it."
For a moment Luther felt disbelief and a stirring of anger and disdain at the very suggestion of leaving the battle, then consciously calmed his body's physical reactions to the combat that were distorting his higher thought processes. The Will is Master, he reminded himself.
A strange wet sound through his headset, and Tarak yelled, "Groto? Groto!" A cursory look from his position towards that of the other batarian. "He's down. Curved shot to the side of the head."
Luther blinked surprise, looking back towards the distant mountains. White Christ, that was a hell of a shot. Close to a mile, gusting winds, curved using the wind around the sand bank into an estimated position of where the batarian SIU trooper was. Whoever had made it was more than just good; they were gifted. Not the sort of person you wanted to be on the wrong end of the scope from.
Another shot rang out and Luther felt his kinetic shields die under the impact. He started to duck down lower with a curse when he realized that this one had come from a different direction, from the pyramid. Almost forgot about that one, he thought as he scrambled for cover.
"Alright, Tarak, I'm convinced. Boys, suppressin' fire on the pyramid!" He pulled out the depleted power pack for the shields and began switching a new one from a compartment on his armor as the two ghouloons aimed their SAWs at the pyramid and let loose with a barrage of automatic fire. He grabbed his assault rifle and clipped it back to his armor as he watched the power level readout climb until the kinetic shields reformed around him with a sound felt more through the armor than heard. "Right. Alright, Tarak, mind in gear, arse to rear. Let's do it, let's go."
The drakensis and the batarian popped to the their feet and began running for the APC. Luther bounced forward, not bothering to come to his feet, flinging himself up with a flexing of long arms and legs, then hit the ground with legs pumping and body almost horizontal, moving like a broken-field runner. The batarian was slower, but extremely fast for a species not as extensively gene-engineered as the Draka Citizens.
Luther reached the APC first and took cover behind it near the ghouloons. He quickly turned and aimed his sniper rifle at the oncoming ambushers on the mountain, firing at them to keep them down while Tarak finished closing the distance to the vehicle, hurdling the bodies near it.
"In, in!" he shouted, slapping the batarian's armored back as he passed by. He fired a last few shots at the enemy troops then turned and ducked into the APC, followed closely by the two surviving ghouloons.
Luther fell into a seat as he collapsed his sniper rifle and clipped it back to his armor, reaching up and pulling his helmet off as the APC rumbled away from the meeting site. "Well, that was a fuckin' fiasco," he remarked.
The SIU trooper shrugged as he set his own helmet aside, his four-eyed face a mass of scars, looking far tougher than any batarian Luther had seen before. Not sure what all exactly goes into that SIU training, but it seems to have somethin' to it.
"It happened, it's done," he replied, his voice flat. "Now we report to our superiors and see what's to be done next."
The drakensis smiled thinly. At least he ain't sayin' 'I told you so'. "Sho' thing. An' maybe we'll find out who was behind this." His hand clenched into a fist. "I'm buildin' a powerful dislike fo' them."
Janet began to slow the steady trot that ate distance as she and the three other SSI troopers neared the meeting site. Five dead, she thought coldly. The other two survivors had been sent around to an easier, more visible path around the mountain to bring the rovers back, while the snipers were making their way to the meeting site behind them.
The other five had been taken down by the steady, meticulous sniper fire from the Snakes and batarians. She shook her head briefly. Keep your mind clear, Lefarge, she told herself, though she heard the words in the voice of her drill instructor from Basic. We always knew the price going into this business.
Movement ahead drew her attention. She snapped her Springfield-20 to the ready as she caught sight of a tall, slim figure with a tall, strangely shaped helmet approaching the bodies lined up near where the Draka APC had been. Too small for a ghouloon, not a humanoid like a drakensis or a batarian... "Identify yourself!" she shouted as the other three troopers also trained their assault rifles on the stranger.
The armored figure turned at the voice, an assault rifle held casually at his side in one hand. "Dublo Flemin, Special Tactics and Reconnaissance. Are you mercenaries, or are you Samothracian?"
Janet blinked behind her visor, feeling a chill run over her skin. The Special Tactics and Recon branch were an elite group of agents – Spectres, for short – that answered directly to the Council itself. Highly trained individuals authorized to act above and outside the law, the Spectres had one simple mandate: protect galactic stability at any and all costs. But what's one of them doing here? she wondered as she gathered herself.
"How do you know we're either of those?" she asked neutrally, though she lowered the barrel of her assault rifle slightly.
"Deduction," the Spectre replied. "Too well armed for pirates or slavers. Tuntau is a popular location for small ships traveling through this cluster to land for a drive discharge, perfect targets for mercenary bands looking for an easy score. Otherwise, must be Samothracian. Meeting made up of drakensis and batarians, both of which would logically attract the attention of Samothracian Intelligence. If the latter, we may have much to discuss. If the former, will have to kill you."
Janet noticed the other three troopers exchanging glances; she could practically read their minds. One guy is going to kill all of us? But she had done extensive research on the various law enforcement and military branches of the Citadel. He may just be able to do it, she thought as she examined the salarian, then nodded in decision and straightened, lowering her rifle.
"Janet Lefarge, Strategic Studies Institute." No use in lying, and the Council would be upset if Samothrace didn't cooperate with one of their Spectres.
The Spectre, Dublo, nodded in acknowledgment and turned back to the bodies, approaching them without another word. Irked, Janet trotted after him and was surprised when one of the 'dead' bodies suddenly moved. She snapped her rifle back up and noticed that the salarian had been a beat faster than her.
"Wait, don't shoot!" A female voice, sounding desperate as she threw one hand in the air as she used to other to help herself to her feet. Two holes through the helmet showed blue skin and a brown eye. There was a faint shimmering just behind the holes.
Asari maiden, Dublo deduced as he took in the tone of the voice and the extensive facial markings that were the traditional mark of one of the monogendered race in the youngest of the three life stages. "Who are you?" he demanded.
"I'm just a merc, I thought I was helping to escort a shipment of slaves!" She cringed as the four humans behind him suddenly tensed. Dublo held up a hand briefly to stop them from doing anything rash. Humans have bad history with slavers, he reminded himself.
The Spectre moved forward to flip some of the bodies onto their backs. Three asari, two salarians and a turian in all, he noted. "Slaves?" he pressed.
"Yeah! Except that those damned batarians turned on me when we passed through the relay." Her voice was bitter. "And I didn't expect to get shot at either. Please! You have to get me into a pressurized environment! The bullets just missed me through my helmet, and I played dead while I used my biotics to plug the leaks!" She was obviously sagging at the effort of maintaining a field for so long.
Dublo noted the nearby APC the batarians had abandoned in their rush to escape. Possibly pressurized, possibly not. Batarians not known for installing luxuries for military forces. He turned his attention back to the asari. "I'm going to need more information first." As she began to protest, he continued: "The faster you give me information, the faster you can get into a safe environment." He waited for her tired, reluctant nod. "Now... were they selling these slaves to the Draka?"
"I didn't know who we were coming to meet until we got here," she replied, her voice losing its former hysterical note. "They just said they were going to hand us over to them. I didn't know much about the rest of them. I didn't see them until after we landed, and the batarians didn't let us talk to each other."
Dublo frowned. Not much information to go on. The slaving had been an assumption of hers; from what she was saying they could have just as easily been handing over criminals to the Domination for prosecution. Unusual that it would be in a clandestine meeting, but the Council will need more concrete information than that before they will antagonize the Domination and the Hegemony.
"Anything else? Any other information you might have seen? Or heard?" he pressed.
"Please," the asari pleaded, slumping noticeably now. "An environment... I'm so tired..."
"Only after you give me information," he replied, then rushed forward as the asari suddenly slumped to the ground. He dropped his assault rifle and brought a hand to the back of her head, raising it so that he could look into her eyes. "Quickly! Was there anything else you heard?"
"I..." The asari was muddled from exhaustion, taking a moment to process the words. "They were going somewhere else... after this..."
"Where?"
Her eye met his through his visor, speaking one word before her biotic field finally collapsed: "Omega."