Minimum Safe Distance

Shepard allowed himself to take stock of the situation whilst the Service Chief moved out into the corridor to replace the engineer, who had entered with the explosive. What he saw didn't particularly please him. Dingy lighting, somewhat less than sanitary conditions which would have been so even before the bodies had been altered from living to dead, minimal hardware besides the communications antenna and the surveillance screens...

"This is no command centre." He growled. O'Reilly looked at him questioningly. "It's a decoy, a dud, a honeyed trap for us to hit and get killed in the attempt. Look at this place. No crime lord, no pirate chief, no captain of mercenaries or privateers with any self respect or delusions of grandeur could put up with this. And those people are our quarry. They send all comms signals via this antenna, which doubtless breaches the surface, and make it look like this is their command centre with a minimum of effort. Command fell for it, having been given no alternatives, and now that we're here, I suspect that they're going to start trying to swarm us under like rabid bleeding dogs."

"The package is ready, sir." The engineer reported automatically. Shepard still wasn't used to people addressing him as if he outranked them, which of course, he technically still didn't; he was just more frightening and ruthless than anyone else and had commandeered the squad through sheer force of personality-if you didn't include the death threats. This wasn't to say that being called 'sir' threw him off balance; it just gave him a little warm glow, a small chemical thrill of a reward for seizing power. The novelty would wear off, he knew.

"Give." He said shortly. "Check for alternative exit routes, we're not going to make it fifty metres with those four eyed nut jobs swarming around us." He took the package, and pulled the knife from the back of his belt, before turning to approach the corpse of Jenkins. He needed to hide the bomb, and since the boy wasn't using his body anymore...

"What are you doing?" The engineer asked in sickened, scandalised voice as Shepard efficiently and casually butchered the corpse of one of his own men with his stiletto blade, before concealing the device in his now more efficiently packed torso.

"He's dead. He doesn't need his body; I do. And if you're going to tell me I'm desecrating a corpse, bear in mind that his death didn't leave him clean and whole in the first place." Shepard said, before picking the dead man up and carrying him over to lean him against the antenna. "Do you have the detonator?"

"Of course." The engineer said, displaying it.

Gunfire cracked out, coming from the other side of the room, precluding O'Reilly's return, sweating slightly.

"We've got out exit vector." He reported. "One door, a few batarians with more gathering but less than out the front."

"Good." Shepard said, then went and retrieved the grenade launcher; they'd need some heavy firepower to cover the perimeter squad's retreat or the enemy would be right on top of them as they attempted to escape. He checked the weapon's ammunition; two shots, not much but it would have to do. He activated his communications system, in order to brief the team on the plan before it commenced, but was suddenly cut off by static. He attempted to switch frequency, and attempted to perform a diagnostic, but it wasn't working.

"Sir, my comm. unit's only getting static, even on the intra-squad frequency." The Irishman reported.

"We're being jammed." Shepard realised out loud. "They know what we're doing; they want to make sure the detonator won't work. Can you rig it to a timer?" He asked the engineer.

"I can try..." the man replied uneasily.

"Get on with it, then." Shepard snarled, realising he was becoming uneasy, then realising why; the gunfire in the corridor had stopped. "O'Reilly." He beckoned, and the two of them advanced on the doorway, to see two groups of very confused marines and batarians trying to understand why their weapons wouldn't work. Shepard knew, and groaned.

The weapons the galaxy at large used utilised Mass Effect technology to chip off a shard of metal from a solid ammo block then launch it at hypersonic speed into the enemy. Of course, all of this means that the guns are essentially computers; and computers can be prone to the same jamming as comms equipment.

"Fix bayonets, or utilise whatever close quarters weaponry you can." Shepard instructed quietly. "Fall back, try to be surreptitious, and be very ready to run."

"I've rigged up a very basic timer, sir." The engineer said behind them quietly.

"Set it to one minute."

"But sir, we'll have next to no chance of reaching minimum safe distance."

"And they'll have next to no chance to find the bomb and stop your primitive timer. It's not ideal, but do it."

"It's done."

"Set it off when I tell you to; not before."

Shepard and his men were still edging back softly, moving away from the bewildered fanatics, when suddenly one of them seemed to get a primitive urge to make war without its weapon. It looked up and saw the humans preparing to flee, and suddenly charged, snarling with rage; and all of its comrades followed suit.

"RUN!" Shepard said, turning and sprinting into and across the comms hub with the rest of his team, towards the back of the formation. As he drew level with the engineer he yelled "Activate the timer!"

The engineer complied and then hurriedly joined the formation as they fled from the explosion that would occur in a minute's time, leaving the hub and entering another network of corridors that, while having fewer batarians than were behind them, had a sufficient enemy presence to be uncomfortable and slow progress. At first, they too were startled by their malfunctioning weapons, before they began to follow the example of Shepard's men and attempting to bludgeon the enemy at close quarters. Shepard hastily dispatched any that his squad left as they ran, resorting to quick but sloppy stabs in his adrenaline fuelled haze.

He took a quick glance over his shoulder; behind him was the engineer, and behind him, the main force of fanatics. Looking ahead again, he saw that his men were approaching a different section, partitioned by a heavy steel blast door that stood open. His mental count was coming dangerously close to zero; if they wanted any chance at survival; that door had to be shut behind them.

"Get past the door!" Eleven...

Ten...

Nine...

Eight...

Seven...

Six-

The formation cleared the door; most of the men kept on running, Shepard skidded to a halt to shut it, and realised that another man had yet to come through. The engineer had been left behind.

He looked back, and saw that the man had stumbled, slowed, before trying desperately to catch up again, the terror in his face showing clearly that he could keep track as well as Shepard could.

Three... Shepard could see that even if the engineer managed to make it through, it was unlikely that he'd be able to shut the door in time. He'd be risking everyone's life, his in particular, for one lagger.

He shut the door and secured it.

One... The engineer kept running for some obscure reason, and hit the door. He stared at Shepard through the reinforced glass viewport, stared at him accusingly. He mouthed something; Shepard deciphered it after a second's thought:

Two... One... My count was out. Damn.

The bomb detonated.