A/N: I'm back! So are all three of my stories. Man, does it feel good to hit that upload button again …

Chapter Seven

The cold surrounds him, closing in and biting savagely at him where his suit is thinnest. Something has gone wrong with his suit filter, too, and the frigid air is coming straight in, stinging his nose and lungs. Kal pulls his boot from the snow and plunges forward, once again grimly cursing the fact that in its haste to face down the geth, the admiralty board neglected to send the team with proper equipment.

The wind slices over the ground, picking up a flurry of loose flakes and cutting into him like a razor. They are hiking toward Retellis squad, or at least toward where the squad was when Kal received their distress call. It seems like days ago now, and Kal's hopes are not high. In his mind the terrific crack and the rising wall of ice replay over and over again, along with the question did any of them make it out? Tannea trudges in silence behind him. Kal can only imagine what she must think of him.

They must have. Someone must have made it besides us. There have been no incoming transmissions since the lake, but if any of Feraror squad remains then they, like Kal, would likely choose to stay off the air and keep their position hidden. For that same reason they have not been able to call ahead to Retellis to ask for a position report. So they walk.

It is some unmarked amount of time, days by Kal's reckoning but most likely less than two hours, when he suddenly feels the back of his neck prickle. Kal's hand snaps up, signaling a halt, and he holds perfectly still, eyes and ears straining. They are nearing the top of a gentle hill, bare save for a few conifers and the ever-present blanket of snow. The air is silent and still, and Kal slowly begins to realize that what he sensed was not a movement or a sound, but a smell. Shit, not this, he thinks, cold dread solidifying in the pit of his stomach,but there is no hint of the fire-like energy in his veins, nor the awful, wrenching sense of change. It's only one of the bittersweet "gifts" he now carries with him, along with the lessening of his need for light to see by.

The water must have wrecked my air filter completely, he thinks, pulling the painfully cold air in through his nose. There is something definitely different about it, an undercurrent, like a dye floating in slowly running water. Alien. Sweat, skin, machine oil. Blood. Kal looks back to Tannea. The sniper is standing stock still, watching him. Kal motions to her to follow him, and begins creeping slowly up the hill.

As Kal nears the top of the hill he drops to a crouch, slipping from tree to tree as he tries to get a better look at the shallow valley below him. The scent is stronger, and he can almost make out voices now. A few more careful half-steps and he catches sight of movement, a figure wrapped in cloth and holding a rifle, watching something he cannot see. He edges still closer, and the whole scene is revealed.

A group of suited quarians stand in a single file line, surrounded by more of the wrapped-up figures. They are being slowly shepherded toward two closed-topped vehicles that sit idling in the valley. His heart pounding, Kal counts the quarians. Seven. Two injured, at least two that are obvious. He counts ten of the hostiles, three of whom are injured.

The backs of the vehicles, which resemble armored trucks with rugged-looking treads, open and the enemy soldiers begin to march the quarians inside. Kal watches for a moment, numb with horror, before, with a jolt, he realizes that he must act. He surges forward, meaning to charge down the hill, and is jerked back by a firm hand at his shoulder. He turns, snarling, and is met by the Tannea's pale violet face mask. She glares at him, her narrowed eyes visible through the glass. Kal bares his teeth, trying to shake her off, and to his surprise is slammed back against a tree trunk. Tannea leans in, her mask inches away from his, and hisses at him. "What the hell are you doing?"

"We have to do something!" Kal whispers back at her, equally furious. "What are you doing?"

"Stopping you from getting killed, since you're too thick-headed to do it yourself! What do you think you're going to do, run down there with no gun and rip their throats out?"

"Yes," Kal growls, even though he knows Tannea is right. "Alright, fine," he concedes, struggling to keep his voice low. He casts an frustrated glance down the hill. The line of quarians, now two lines, are halfway inside the trucks. "What do you suggest?"

"Not running into assault-rifle fire, for one thing," Tannea says, more gently. "Listen. This could be the perfect opportunity to find out where these guys are coming from. We can hitch a ride into their base, or wherever they're coming from. Then we can free Retellis."

"What? We're just going to climb in?"

"Don't be uncreative. We've got the camo tents. We can get up on the roof of one of the trucks and hide there." Her eyes narrow further. "I won't ask you if you have a better idea, because I know you don't. So come on."

…

Captain Gale Hendrickson's eyelids flutter. He presses his lips together, trying to will the disturbance away. Despite his mental pleas, the knock comes again, louder and with a hint of impatience. "Come in, Garoth!" he snaps, his left eye twitching a bit. Gods, they're giving me a twitch … "Not too far in, though," he adds as he hears the door begin to creak open. "I've got this room smelling just the way I like it. Which is to say, entirely unlike unwashed farm animals."

Boots take a few tentative steps inside. "Uh, as you say, sir," says Garoth, the pointed remark flying a calculated two inches over his head. "Uh, sir?"

"What?" demands Gale, clinging to his patience. He should have known better than to ask these idiots to leave him alone for a few hours. It's always too much to ask. Every little thing is too much to ask.

"Well, ah, Charlie team made contact with the mercs what just landed south 'f us. Only they ain't mercs. They're quarians."

Gale's eyes snap open. "What?"

"I said they're quar-"

"I heard you!" Gale unfolds his legs, rising and turning away from the bewildered-looking Garoth. He runs a hand through his jet-black hair. "Quarians. What are quarians doing here?"

"I don't know, sir."

"Of course you don't, Garoth. You have no idea why this is a disaster. But I do." Gale straightens up, staring at the wall. "Quarians. We're not here to fight quarians. That facility on the top of the mountain, that is why we're here! But now that quarians have landed south of here, the mercenary reinforcements are going to have to land to the north, between us and the facility, which really fucks everything up!" He glares at the steel paneling. "Bravo team is going to be knee-deep in it if the mercs land before they get back."

Garoth is silent for a moment, then he perks up. "Sorry sir, but there's good news too! Charlie team captured prisoners, seven or eight of them!"

The room is deadly quiet for a few seconds. "Prisoners," Gale says softly. "Prisoners. Prisoners?!" He wheels around, his face a rictus of fury. "I didn't ask for prisoners! I don't want to fight the quarians at all! We don't have the man power to engage enemies on both sides! On top of that, even if I wanted hostages, where the hell would I put them? You know where we were keeping the one prisoner we had? In the closet! I interrogated him in a fucking utility closet! Where am I going to put eight prisoners?" Gale lowers his eyes, his brows drawing together mournfully. "I don't ask for much, Garoth. Do I ask for too much?"

Garoth leaned back two inches or so during the captain's outburst, and now he's trying to decide if it's safe to lean back. "Um," he offers.

"No," says Gale, looking at the floor. "I don't think so. I just want you to think," he continues, almost pleadingly. "Why don't any of you think?" He straightens up, shaking his head sadly. "I'll have to think of something. I can try to find out why they're here, at least. Then we'll be a little better off. I'll probably have to kill them, you realize that? I've got enough innocent suffering on my hands." He turns away, striding back to his seat in the shadows. "So much misfortune," he murmurs to himself. "So many lives cut short because of chance. It is the saddest thing about what we do."

Garroth stares at his boss, unsure of what to say. "I, well, I personally think the animals is pretty sad, sir," he says at length.

"Hm?"

"Well, whenever we do a drop or a, a, you know, a mission or something, it's usually in a bunch of trees or some mountains or something. And I always get to thinking about all the animals what lives there, you know, like the foxes and birds and all them. They always looks so scared, you know, like we're breaking up their home. One time when we was fighting them vorcha a while back, and they was throwin' grenades at us like crazy, well, after we killed 'em all, I was walkin' back and I saw this bird's nest, fell right out of the tree 'cause of all the explosions. Had three little eggs in it, blue and green with spots they was."

Gale looks at Garoth over his shoulder, raising an eyebrow. "And what did you do?"

"Well, I picked it up," says Garoth earnestly. "And I put it back up in the tree, Except, I didn't know if the mother would know. Like, would she know to come back. I wonder if she knew we weren't trying to hurt her or her kids, that we just wanted to kill each other. I wonder if she knew, or if she didn't and she hated us and thought we were trying to blow up her children what weren't even born yet. Or maybe she knew and just didn't care and hated us anyway."

"You thought all of that?"

"Well, sure," says Garoth, sounding a little abashed. "I mean, it just gets to botherin' me sometimes. Like when I'm thinkin' about it and there's nothing else to do."

"What about the people?"

"Huh?"

"What about the people you kill," asks Gale. "Do you ever think about them?"

"What?" asks Garoth, looking genuinely confused.

Gale smiles, shaking his head. "Go on. I have seven-or-eight unwanted guests to get ready for."

"Right." Garoth nods, seeming a little relieved. "You, uh, want me to do anything?"

"Just keep thinking. Oh, and find me a bigger closet."

…

Kal fights the urge to shift his freezing knees, holding himself stock-still and watching, muscles tensed, as the backs of the trucks slowly begin to raise. The engines rev, back wheels churn up fountains of snow, and then the two vehicles finally start inching forward. Kal flashes a hand signal back to Tannea, and then without checking to see if she's following he charges out of the thin line of spruce trees.

The snow pulls at him, trying to trap him, and he just barely keeps his balance as he barrels toward the nearer of the two trucks. A set of rungs lines the sloped back, and Kal focuses on them, pushing forward. He reaches out a hand, his fingers brushing the bar, and just as he reaches out to tighten his hold the truck's engine growls and the ladder jerks out of his reach. Kal snarls in frustration, forcing his burning legs to work faster. To his left he sees a flash of blue and silver as Tannea breaks past him and, bounding forward, grabs onto the back of the truck. Kal lowers his head, sprinting onward. A hand reaches out toward him, Tannea's voice calling out something incomprehensible and urgent. Kal shoots out an arm, grabbing the hand, and he's swinging upward, Tannea letting out a pained cry as she's nearly wrenched off of the ladder, and he reaches up and his hand finds a rung. He latches on, clinging to the ladder as the truck bounces and jolts and does its best to shake both of them off. "Up!" he screams, trying to be heard over the roaring engine and the wind and his own pounding heart. Tannea nods, somehow understanding him, and Kal turns and starts forcing his way hand over hand to the top of the truck.

…

Groundbreaking. James stares up at the panoramic observation screen. A magnified picture of a forest hangs over the crew's head, painting the inside of the bridge in greenish-yellow light. Strange trees with long, serrated leaves sway back and forth below the ship's eye, moving like waves on water. James stands hypnotized, watching silently as the emerald sea undulates slowly. A speck of darkness rises from the treetops, jumping across the screen. James blinks. Could that be a bird? He finds himself thinking back to his home, not his new home with Kal but the place he called home once, long ago.

Did Earth ever look like this? James remembers seeing pictures, sometimes even videos of a place that seemed more like a dream or a fantasy than a real world. He remembers images of vast, rolling green hills, of dense primeval forests, animals with striped fur and shimmering scales and brilliant, phosphorescent skin. Supposedly there are places on Earth that are still like that, and supposedly there are still some of the amazing and wonderful creatures in zoos and wildlife preserves. James doesn't know if he believes it. The images of a green paradise don't fit the Earth he knew. The blue planet, that's what it was called. Funny, when we finally cleared the atmosphere and looked back, it was brown …

Somebody is saying something. James blinks again, pulling himself back to the present.

"Ye ready for the groundbreaking, boyo?" McCormick edges up alongside James, his eyes fixed on the screen overhead. He rubs his hands together, a grin of excitement showing through his beard. "Look at 'er. A beautiful ball of rock 'n eezo, just waitin' for us t' crack into." He drops his gaze to the man sitting slouched over the control desk. "Geoff, how are we lookin'?"

The man raises his eyes lazily, smirking at McCormick. "We're doing just fine. Just waiting on the word from our dear captain."

"Rogers!" yells a hoarse voice from below the deck. A clanking and a scuffling issues from the ladder tube, and in a moment captain Sawyer's head appears, followed shortly by the rest of him as he clambers ungracefully to the deck. "What's the hold up?" he demands, striding toward the command desk.

"Just awaiting orders, captain," replies Rogers, a touch too meekly. Sawyer glares at him, probably sensing the sarcasm in his voice but unwilling to call him out on it. He blows a puff of air out through his mustache, lowering his eyebrows. "Hff. Get on with it, get on with it. Let's crack the surface some time today, gentlemen."

Rogers pulls off a lopsided salute, raising his hand dramatically over the control panel. "Count-down, please."

"Just do it, you damn fool! Half a day's pay for every second you waste!"

Rogers sighs theatrically, dropping his fingers to the glowing panel. A series of beeps issues from the console, and then an echoing clunk shudders through the craft. Next to James McCormick bounces slightly.

James watches the screen closely, but the swaying green landscape remains unchanged. "Is anything happening?" he whispers to the man beside him.

McCormick's grin widens. "Oh, it's happening, lad. Just watch."

James returns his eyes to the screen. A few minutes pass. Another bird takes flight above the gently dancing treetops. There's no sound, but James imagines he can hear the soft rustling of leaves, birdsong. And then there's a flash. Blinding white light fills the screen, so intense that James has to shield his eyes with his arm. Slowly, the light begins to fade away, and James lowers his arm. What he sees makes his insides turn cold. Where the wide landscape of brilliant green once was, there is now a nightmare image of black smoke and fire. All traces of foliage are obliterated, much of the picture hidden beneath thick, pitch-dark smoke that rolls across the scene in huge, tumbling clouds shot through with red and orange streaks. The screen flickers, and a hazy red filter drops over the picture. James can now partially see through the smoke. All that is left of the tranquil forest is a vast, gaping crater, its center black as the void, flames licking around its edges. It must be nearly half a mile across. All around James, the men begin to clap.

James realizes his mouth is open, frozen in an expression of horror and disbelief. He closes it, turning away from the terrible scene above them. "We did that?" he asks McCormick, his voice shaky.

"Of course we did," chuckles the bearded man. "A damn clean job, too. Straight into th' crust."

James's eyes fall to the floor, trying to get away from the picture overhead. He can't escape it though, for the entire cabin is soaked in its ghastly reddish glow. "Is this legal?" he asks, a sick feeling knotting up in the pit of his stomach.

McCormick laughs. "Who cares? Out here, no-one's going te care. What does it matter, anyway? We're going te be rich, lad!"

James shakes his head mutely, unable to express the the chilled, twisting feeling in his gut and unsure if he would if he could.He suddenly wants to go home terribly, even more than he has so far. He wants to press his face against Kal's chest and breathe in his scent and be far, far away from these awful men and their cruel, insane world. He wants to be told that he is not one of them. But James can do none of these things, so he squeezes his jaw tighter and curls his hands into fists inside his pockets and fights back the urge to weep for the act he has just taken part in, and for the light-years of space between him and his lover, and for the cruel, terrible ways of the universe.

…

The wind whips at Kal, stinging him like real lashes and threatening to drive him from the roof of the truck. He presses his head up to Tannea's from where he lies, almost on top of her, and screams to be heard. "What now?"

No reply comes from the sniper. Kal thinks for a moment. "We can't just attack them."

"Brilliant!" yells Tannea, the wind doing nothing to hide just how brilliant she thinks Kal's plans are.

"Alright," he says, the beginnings of an actual idea forming somehow. "We don't who these assholes are or what they want, but we gotta find out if we're gonna get our people back and finish the mission."

"So how do we do that?" demands the sniper.

"Here's the plan," Kal screams into the wind. "We hid under the tent until we get wherever we're going. Then we slip off and join the rest of them. We can get them loose from the inside."

"No! Are you crazy? You want me to leave my rifle and get captured on purpose!?"

"We're not going to be able to do a damn thing on our own! Getting inside and joining up with the rest of the men is our best chance! I've still got my knife, and we've got the element of surprise."

"Right up until we drop ourselves into their hands!"

"Do you have a better idea?" The silence is answer enough. Kal wriggles his hand free and grabs Tannea's, giving it a rough squeeze. "We can do this!" he yells. "I'm not letting any more men die."

The sniper returns his grip fiercely. "We're not letting any more men die," she corrects him.