Janet Lefarge watched the salarian Spectre as he stood in front of the dead asari mercenary, staring down at her silently with his arms folded just above his stomach in the indentation of his chest. He was large for one of his species, above average in height for an already tall race and thicker in body and limbs. He had been standing there for the past few minutes, ever since the young asari had died in his arms and he had laid her back onto the ground. Behind them the other SSI troopers were picking through the other bodies for information and equipment, especially those of the dead batarian and the ghouloon.
Can't say I feel much sympathy for someone who was okay with being a slaver, she thought. Still, he had been the one doing the interrogating. "The batarian APC didn't have a pressurized crew compartment anyway," she offered to the Spectre. "Even if it had, any additional information was important. You don't have anything to be sorry about."
Dublo looked up as Janet started to speak, then shook his head as she finished. "No, it is not remorse I'm contemplating. I did need that information, and she is far from the first intelligent being that has died at my hands."
Janet started to reply, then shrugged inwardly. Fair enough. A frown. Not the first being to die... "By the way," she began, "there was a ghouloon on that pyramid. I'm guessing you had something to do with that?" She waited for his nod, then continued: "No offense, but how did you neutralize it? Those things don't go down easy."
"Ah, simple enough. Design flaw in the armor." After a small stretch of silence, the salarian detected that she was looking for a more detailed answer. "Hose connecting the helmet to the power pack on the armor's back was exposed, vulnerable. Sloppy work." He frowned behind his helmet. "I tried jamming it's outgoing transmissions to prevent the others being alerted, but they utilized more bandwidth than I anticipated." A sniff. "Grossly overpowered, unrefined."
The Spectre looked over abruptly as Janet laughed softly; she held up a placating hand. "Sorry, but you just described the Draka basic philosophy. 'Brute force and massive ignorance'. The Snakes – sorry, drakensis – like to bludgeon problems to death by preference." She nodded to the dead ghouloon nearby. "Those were bred to be their Janissaries, slave-soldiers. They give them mass produced equipment just good enough for field service and use them as a battle-axe for campaigns of attrition. They did the same back when all their slaves were human."
Dublo considered the nuances of the statement a moment, then replied: "You say their slaves – serfs, they call them? - were human. Weren't the Draka human as well?"
Janet scowled. "Barely," she said shortly. "They were slavers, mass murderers, and degenerates. But they didn't want to be human. They always saw themselves as something above everyone else, and they told themselves that it justified enslaving every other human. When they were done murdering thousands of slaves in experiments to crack the human genome – another of their brute force methods – they created their New Race, the drakensis."
Dublo was silent a moment as his mind quickly processed the information. "Strange," he concluded. "You and the Draka were the same species. For them to come to such a radically different philosophy must have required several differing factors – societal, environmental, economic."
Janet shook her head. "Our people examined that from the end of the Eurasian War right up until the Fall and the Exodus; it doesn't matter much anymore, now that it's been hardwired into the drakensis. One of their people wrote a social history back in 1983, on the 200th anniversary of their foundation as a colony, a guy named Sorensson. He tried to explain how the ideology of their Domination and their Citizens came about. You can look at that if you're really interested."
"Intriguing. Perhaps I will."
Janet looked over as two armored figures came trotting up. "Excuse me," she said to the salarian as she turned towards the two SSI snipers and walked over.
"Ma'am," they said in unison, giving a brief salute.
"At ease," she ordered, waving off the salutes casually. "We don't do that in the field." Can't think of a better way to put a bullseye on an officer.
"Yes, ma'am," they chorused. "Sorry, ma'am," the drell added. Standing side by side, they were easy to tell apart despite the concealing armor. Chaiseri was broader through the shoulders, blockier compared to the slighter, more lithe Krios.
Janet turned her attention to the drell, clasping her hands behind her back. "I had a look at that batarian," she commented. "Behind an obstacle, to the side of the head. Damn impressive shot." Or sheer luck. But I'm sure the Institute didn't take him on for nothing. "Where'd you learn to shoot?"
Krios – Delin Krios was his full name – glanced aside at the batarian body, then back to his human CO. "I did some fighting back on Rakhana, ma'am," he replied. "I had much experience in the various conflicts we fought over our dwindling food and water supplies."
Janet raised an eyebrow. "And when the Institute approached you, you signed on for more? No retirement?"
The drell shook his head. "I and my family were among the first to be evacuated on the New America. I had been escorting my family to take up the offer of the hanar Illuminated Primacy to evacuate us to their ocean planet, Kahje, when the human fleet arrived in orbit and announced their arrival to assist us." He paused for a while, looking back across the years to that desperate time and reliving his memories with brutal clarity due to his species' eidetic memory. "They were... less intimidating than the hanar," he continued at last. "They were so alien to so many drell that many sought to brave their chaotic but familiar surroundings rather than to entrust their lives to such alien beings.
"But your people were far less alien, they were shaped as we are and they spoke with sounds instead of bioluminescence. And they offered land much like our home, the equatorial desert of Samothrace." A pause, and she could hear the smile hidden behind his helmet as he continued: "I changed direction from there, to the nearest evacuation center under human control."
He straightened and looked at Janet levelly. "The United Systems of Samothrace saved the lives of my family and myself. I seek to repay the debt I owe, and to defend my nation against the Draka and the Hegemony."
Another drell looking to repay the 'debt' they owe us, Janet thought. I wonder if the drell the hanar picked up feel the same way. She made a mental note to check on that when she had a spare moment as she nodded to Krios and Chaiseri and turned away to check on the Spectre.
He was crouched next to the body of the ghouloon when she looked, looking over the SAW-4 light machine gun it had been carrying, then looking back at the body to examine the hands at the end of all four limbs. He glanced over briefly as she approached, then went back to his examination.
"I have not had much experience with the Domination's forces before this," Dublo stated, gesturing to the body and equipment before him. "Non-governmental organizations, mostly. Terrorists, pirates, slavers. Occasional infiltration for data." He got back to his feet, brushing sand off of his hands. "The ghouloons appear to be a robust species, and its equipment simple but sturdy." A pause. "The drakensis was... startling," he admitted. "I had heard of their physical abilities, but..."
"It's something else to see it with your own eyes, right?" The salarian nodded reluctant agreement to Janet's statement. She glanced over at the asari mercenary's body. "She said they were going somewhere else after this. Some place called Omega." She looked back at him. "I've heard references to it before, that it's in the Terminus Systems. What is it exactly?"
Dublo looked at her in surprise a moment, then shook his head as he reminded himself aloud, "I forget that your people emerged into the greater galaxy little more than a decade ago." He started to pace as he continued: "It is a large space station mined out of an asteroid located deep in the Terminus Systems. It serves as an economic hub for various minor species that refuse to recognize the authority of the Council or adhere to the Citadel Conventions, though most of its trade is illicit. Omega itself is lawless, what authority there is provided by gangs, mercenary groups and crime syndicates that control limited territories on the station.
"My people call it 'place of secrets', the asari name translates as 'heart of evil', the turians call it 'world without law', and the krogan refer to it as 'land of opportunity'." He stopped his pacing abruptly and looked at her. "What does the human name for it mean?"
Janet didn't hear him for a moment, still struck by the krogan name for what sounded like a lawless hive of criminals and various other scum. 'Land of opportunity'? she thought with a touch of pique. It hardly sounds like the America I was born in.
She refocused her attention back to him, going back over what part of her had heard while she had been distracted. "Omega?" She searched her memory for a few moments, then replied, "It's the last letter of the Greek alphabet. It basically means 'the end of all things'." Whoever worked on adding English to the galaxy's translators chose a fitting enough name. A disquieting thought occurred to her a moment later: Unless it was the Snakes adding their 'Talk' to the translators. It was Classical Greek, after all.
"Interesting," Dublo said, disrupting her thoughts. He started pacing again for a few moments, then looked at her abruptly again. "I'm not quite sure what the Domination and the Hegemony are up to, or even if it is a threat to galactic peace. But there is too much I don't know about this incident. I plan on pursuing this.
"Time is of the essence in such an active situation, however," he continued, "and stopping to request assistance from the Council would take far too long. I normally work alone, but the opposing forces are formidable as I have seen. You possess a firsthand knowledge of the Draka that could prove invaluable, and you appear to be adequately trained. I would like you to accompany me directly to Omega."
Janet blinked behind the visor of her helmet. Me? Work with a Spectre? Vids portraying them as super-agents saving the entire galaxy from dire threats had been among those films from abroad that had become popular on Samothrace. She had never been the type with romantic notions of what intelligence work consisted of, or that the enemy and his plans could be taken down in one fell swoop.
But to work with one of the Council's elite agents. And against the Snakes... She smiled slowly behind her helmet. Uncle John won't mind if I help expose some Draka nastiness to the Council.
"Alright," she said. "I'll travel with you." After noting his nod, she turned to the rest of her team and began issuing orders as their two rovers came driving up to the site. I'll need all the rations, ammo, some spare weapons and power packs... No human had ever set foot on Omega, and they were considered a relatively minor species by the greater galaxy due to their low numbers anyway. She would have to be self-reliant for the foreseeable future and, failing that, find ways to adapt.
"Report back to the Institute and relay all the intel we've gathered, as well as my status," she ordered the remaining six people on her squad. She picked up the pack of supplies with a sharp exhale of breath and slid the straps over her shoulders.
"Ma'am." Krios stepped forward. "Are you sure that you do not need back up?"
Janet considered a moment, then glanced briefly over where the Spectre was standing near the batarian APC. "I don't think this is the sort of trip where I can just invite anyone along," she remarked dryly. "Besides, you have a family waiting at home." While I'm nearly middle aged, childless and barely see my family anyway, she thought without envy or self-pity; it was simple fact. Samothrace isn't going to fall on account of the loss of one Janet Mary Lefarge.
Krios nodded briefly, paused a moment, then straightened to attention and saluted crisply. "I hope to serve with you again in the future, ma'am." There were murmurs of agreement from the others, and they each drew themselves up and saluted alongside him.
Janet stared at them for a long moment, then shook her head briefly before drawing herself up in turn and returning their salute. "Thanks," she said gruffly. "Now get out of here already. They need that intel back home." Without another word, she turned away from them and strode toward the batarian APC where the salarian Spectre was waiting for her.
I never was good with 'feelings', she thought. I'm just doing my duty. A grin. Even if it means I get to go where no human has gone before and stomp a few Snakes along the way.
OMEGA
SAHRABARIK SYSTEM
OMEGA NEBULA
TERMINUS SYSTEMS
MAY 12, 2014
Luther Tull's nose wrinkled as he walked along the corridor leading away from one of Omega's many landing ports with Tarak and the two ghouloons walking with him. It was dim, grimy, and the windows along one side provided a view of the rock that made up most of this hollowed out asteroid. The other side was no better: it showed a warren of mostly darkened columnar buildings stretching between the interior space of the asteroid, set alongside stacks spewing open flames due to some industrial process, all viewed through windows of some dingy transparent material.
By Frey, this place is ugly! he thought, appalled. Back when most of its industry had been on the Earth's surface, the Domination had always set the Combines' serf-inhabited industrial compounds discreetly out of sight of residential areas, and they didn't construct towering buildings that blocked views. This place was about as far from the comely, well-ordered avenues and gardens of Archona as seemed possible.
He noticed an alien, a batarian, curled up against one of the walls, coughing wetly as he huddled himself into a small ball. A quick glance aside at Tarak spotted his expression twist with contempt before looking away again. "Lower caste trash," the SIU trooper remarked as they walked by.
The corners of Luther's mouth turned downward slightly. The Race had always viewed its Destiny as being the domination of all the Earth, but had also recognized their own responsibility in maintaining their subject races to run the factories and till the fields. No sane Citizen expected work out of a starveling ridden by illness. The batarians, it seemed, had their own ideas about their lower castes and slaves.
As they walked out of an alley onto one of the slightly broader roads, Luther's nose wrinkled again with a sound of distaste made at the back of his throat. Not only was this station ugly, it stank! The mingled odors of a dozen different alien species: sweat and pheromones covered up by the gagging scent of unfamiliar perfumes; the reek of unidentifiable foods wafting from open windows and doors; the putrid stench of uncollected garbage that littered the back alleys. He was so distracted by the odors assailing his nose that he almost missed the sudden attention of some turians lurking in one of the alleys they passed, and the tingling sense of low conversation and movement behind them.
Leaving part of his mind to concentrate on that development, he looked over at Tarak. "So where is this place we're headin'?"
"A few districts over," the batarian replied. "We would have used a closer landing port, but the district it's in is under an... ownership dispute. Some new turian gang, the Primarchs, is trying to carve themselves a place on the station." A pause. "And you want to keep your eyes forward. If you don't watch we're you're going, you might get a blade in the stomach."
Luther let out a disgusted sigh as he looked forward again. "Nothin' but disordered chaos," he muttered, then stopped himself as what his conscious mind had heard cross-checked with what the back part of his mind had been concentrating on. "Turian gang?" he asked sharply.
"Yeah," Tarak replied casually. "I saw them too. They're probably planning on setting up an ambush ahead. Gutsy of them, this is supposed to be an asari district." He glanced back at the two ghouloons. "Not sure why they've chosen us, though. We're in full armor. They usually choose easier targets."
"Hey Draka!" The flanged voice came from behind them, but more turians stepped into the street ahead to block their path. A quick glance behind showed Luther that even more were approaching behind them. The two ghouloons let out low growls.
"That explains it, then," the drakensis commented. Then to the ghouloons: "Easy boys, fo' now." He turned to face the direction the voice had come from, his hand hovering at his side midway between the Jamieson knife at his thigh and the Tolgren pistol at his hip.
This is a bit like the movies about the State back in the 19th Century, actually, he thought, which brought a slight smile to his face as one turian took a few steps ahead of the others, his gait and entire manner arrogantly confident. Some place like the Sudan or West Africa, where all the bushmen had guns and duels between Citizens were mo' common place.
"I knew it was a Snake," the turian remarked, using the derogatory nickname the galaxy had picked up from the Yankees. "I could tell because of those two furry krogan you've got with you. Oh, wait, I've got that wrong! At least krogan know how to form whole sentences." The other turians all squawked out evil laughs. They were all wearing outifts of the same colors and, oddly for turians, the carapace over their faces lacked any of the colorful tattoos that most turians Luther had encountered possessed. They all carried at least a pistol, though only the one who had spoken and a few others wore armor.
The ghouloons practically quivered where they were standing, their bronze-gold slit-pupilled eyes moving to Luther for permission to tear them apart. But the Draka maintained his calm manner, keeping that light smile on his face. "An' who do I have the pleasure of addressin'?" he asked.
There were more laughs from some of the turians at the phrasing. The lead one tilted his head to the side, fixing the drakensis with one avian eye. "I'm Illo, and you're a long way from the Domination, Snake. Did you take a wrong turn somewhere? You're on Omega now, on the Primarchs' turf."
"I thought this was an asari district," Tarak put in.
The leader, Illo, laughed. "Not for long." More laughs echoed from the other turians' surrounding them. He took a couple of steps forward, pulling a shotgun from the small of his back and holding it down at his side as it unfolded. "There's a toll for moving through this district. Especially new arrivals." He brought his hand up, palm up. "Guess you hadn't heard of it. We'll go easy this time, just hand over all your weapons and credits."
Luther's eyes slid to the side to meet with Tarak's. The batarian nodded fractionally, and the drakensis smiled more broadly. "See now, there's goin' t' be a problem with that, Illo," he commented.
Illo brought the shotgun up to in both hands, holding it casually across his stomach. "Don't be stupid, Snake. We've got you surrounded-"
In the next instant the situation exploded into violence as Luther drew the Jamieson and threw it at the loudmouthed turian, the subsonic projectile bypassing the kinetic shields of his armor and burying itself in his arm as he started to turn. The drakensis was already moving in the instant after the blade had left his hand, his legs propelling him most of the way towards an alley off to the side, landing with a roll that brought him the rest of the way in. An inward snarl at this miss. Wanted to hit that pigfuckah in the chest.
His T-8 was out as he finished the roll in a crouch while the gang leader, Illo, let out a shriek of pain and staggered backward as the rest of the turians' moved forward to cover him, guns blazing. Tarak was only a moment behind him in moving for the alley, while the ghouloons let out shatteringly loud roars in the closed in street, one pulling his SAW-4 and unleashing a barrage of fire on the turians', while the other threw forward a fist at the end of a startlingly long arm to end in a turian face with a crunching sound.
"Get in here!" he shouted at the ghouloons as he brought the assault rifle up and started firing precise bursts at unarmored turians, dropping them and sending the rest scrambling for cover, popping shots off over their shoulders or off to their sides as they went. Tarak was firing at the other end in the next instant, while the ghouloon with its light machine gun out laid down suppressing fire while it loped over towards the alley.
The other ghouloon, however, pulled the huge curved knife from its belt and made a leap at the nearest concentration of turians, drool hanging from its fanged jaws. There were screams as it began to attack the gang members' around it, ripping into them with the blade and smashing them with its other arm with strength surpassing the gorilla that made up part of its genetic makeup.
Luther swore aloud as he saw the ghouloon begin its rampage. Damn thing's lost it. Sometimes the animal ferocity just overcame the limited human intelligence they had given them. Well, at least that side of the street should be distracted.
"Let's get out of here," Luther called to Tarak. The batarian nodded agreement and plunged deeper into the alley, leading the drakensis and remaining ghouloon away from the confrontation. They stopped at the first turn, waited until the first turians appeared at the mouth of the alley, then cut them down before continuing. That'll make 'em mo' cautious.
Luther swore under his breath as he waded through the rotting garbage and, in a few cases, bodies that filled the narrow, twisting alleys. His head went up when the sounds of automatic fire suddenly rose even higher behind them. He looked questioningly at Tarak.
"Sounds like the asari finally showed up." A short grunt of laughter. "This district will probably be under an ownership dispute now too."
Luther shook his head. "This is fuckin' insane."
The batarian smirked. "Welcome to Omega."