First of: No Kasumi in this one. Sorry if you were hoping for that one... but as the name of this chapter implies, we have graver things to handle.
Second: Took a long-overdue look at the polls... 24 votes?! Mara, I did NOT expect thát many! This just makes me even more determined to do a good job with MC.
Third: Let battle be joined!
Virmire
November 30th
Hoc system, orbit over Virmire, 6th Raiding Flotilla
20:11 (ship time)
"Fuck me... repeat that one." I mutter, dragging my gauntled fingers over the table.
"Rather not... anyway, the Admiral is in charge, and that means we go where he says we-" Jane starts. I slam my fist into the table, having had more than enough of the 'go there, then not, then go there anyway' bullshit.
"What the fuck? So what, we're just back to where we started? Despite having fucking fleet on our side, we're going down there anyway?" I demand, tightening my fist as I stare, glower actually, at Jane. I really don't give a fuck that she is probably having flashbacks from this place, not now. Right now, all I can focus on is being pissed at the sole fact that despite having a fleet with a dreadnought, we are still going to that Gods-forsaken shithole.
Jane slams her own hands down on the table, causing me to reel back a bit;
"Corporal! When I talk, I expect you to shut up and pay attention. Got it?" She sneers, actually causing me to blink. Of course, with her being Jane Shepard, not blinking would have required me to have a complete set of bionic eyes, not just one of them. Setting my jaw, I look her in the eye for a moment before just looking back down on the table.
"...Yes ma'am..."
"Good. Now listen up." Jane says, turning to what's left of the crew, meaning Tequila, me, Ash, Wrex, Garrus, John, Kaidan and Nihlus. A helluva lot better than the three-man squads Shepard used to be dragging around, but still...I don't like this; "Orders came in ten minutes ago. Petrovsky and his fleet will maintain orbital positions while disembarking whatever planetary manpower they have. Since we are stripped of a Mako, we're docking with the SSV Red October. We'll ride down with them in troopships, take the fight to the geth, infiltrate their defenses, blow up their generators and then X-fil the place. After the shields are down, Petrovsky will resume the shelling and we'll pound the metal out of Saren's ass. Get your gear, we leave for the tube in five. Questions?"
Tequila nods; "Ma'am?"
"Corporal?"
"What kind of ground-support and forces do we have? A hundred men? A thousand men? Vehicles, tanks, the likes?" The Corporal asks, inserting a fresh clip in her rifle. Not sure how, but a small blue symbol then flashes on at the side of the rifle, portraying a shell with crackling electricity around it. Disrupter rounds eh? Figures, I keep forgetting to get those...
Jane pulls out a datapad I am sure she didn't have a moment ago.
"From what I can gather, Petrovsky is placing almost five-thousand marines, twenty Apocalypse battle-tanks as well as fifty combat-jeeps. We'll also have limited air-support from the gunships, but other than that, it's a turkey-shoot." Our captain says, putting the datapad away again. Tequila lets out a long, low whistle of appreciation;
"Damn, that's some numbers you just rattled off there. We're taking an enemy installation the size of a small neighborhood with five thousand marines? Plus tanks and air? Call me crazy, but I'm kinda looking forward to this shit now." She mutters, pulling the bolt locking her ammunition in place.
"Granted. You are crazy corporal, but at least it's the useful sort. The geth will probably be our main enemy down there, and they are as inhumane as they come. They show no fear, no remorse, no pity, no mercy." Jane says.
"And, they are intellectually on par with monkeys. Plus, with the geth I don't have to feel bad for killing a human being, or be scared out of my pants for fighting xenomorphs. As I see it, the geth are just target-practice retuning fire." She says. I have to admit, if grudgingly, that I agree more with Jane here than with Tequila. I've seen geth up close, and they are scary as shit when you don't have super-powers.
"Yes... in small numbers, they are stupid. But in larger numbers they can come on par with advanced AI's. They also have technology that can render our shields and weapons useless. Best hackers in the galaxy, there's a reason we call them that." Nihlus says, tapping an idle talon on the hilt of his shotgun.
"Bah, just rip them apart. Easy, and they won't get up." Wrex mutters, inserting a block of tungsten-ammo into his shotgun, then slapping it on his back before going for the minigun resting against the wall. With mine having been trashed on Noveria, Nicolai's and his own being trashed on Valhalla, we are going to run out of spare-minigun before this is over. Wrex is wearing armor similar to the commandoes, with the red color and patterns of Clan Urdnot decorating his pauldrons and his helmet, the latter resting on the table. The only difference between his armor and that of the clones, is that he looks like some sort of walking, grey and red tank with it on. Hell, as if to add more overkill, each of his wrists has the same jump-blade as the clones, except for each of his being the length of a butcher's knife.
Not interrupting their conversation, I adjust the Lancer in my lap, placing a fresh block of ammunition in it. The one from Valhalla was half-way whittled down, so it was reprocessed into a new, complete block for smaller weapons. I put it in the Carnifex, thinking it might be smarter than leaving on the ship. Not that I am leaving the Raikou, but it would be best, in my eyes, to have two pistols instead of just one.
"Alright guys and girl, because Jane is way too hard-ass to be a girl, we are docking with the Red October in ten seconds. Get me a souvenir will ya?" Joker's voice says through the intercom, causing the lot of us to shift in our seats, minus Wrex and Jane, both standing.
"Well, this is our stop." John says, sighing as he secures his own shotgun behind the small of his back. His eyes are closed, given away by the lack of shimmering lights behind his mask.
"Not yet though, we're still in orbit." Kaidan says, getting up. He's brandishing a shotgun, as well as a heavy pistol, looking a lot heavier than my own Carnifex. Fitting, I guess, as he seems to have issues with handling a regular assault rifle. I'm not going to boast, my aim is still crappy, decent at best. There's a reason I replaced my sniper-rifle with my sword, considering the fact that I tried shooting cans with the sniper, a Reaper of all names, and found I wasted five shots before hitting the target... at twenty meters distance. Needless to say, I returned the thing to the armory. If nothing else, Garrus can have it.
Speaking of Garrus, the Turian is mention is marching up the stairs before me, his armor repaired with some last-minute welds. No clue as to how he managed to wreck it though, but I find that, probably due to our impending one-way trip to a lush, green Hell, I hardly care at all for the reason.
The entire walk from the mess to the airlock is silent, only broken by coughing or the occasional muttering from some of the crewmembers at their stations. They don't know, but we do. We know, just what might be waiting down there.
Death
In whatever form and shape it might be, Death is sure to be waiting for us with open arms. Which is why I aim to punch him in the jaw...
Still, there's no shaking the feeling of dread that has settled over the ship. Hell, even the people at their stations can tell that something is going to go down, and more likely than not, people are going to die.
The hissing of the airlock, coupled with the VI telling us that we are being decontaminated, for whatever reason, brings me out of the less than happy thoughts.
"Alright guys, be careful down there, okay?" Joker says from his chair before the doors close. Contrary to his normally cheeky attitude, there's a certain amount of somberness in his voice, betraying the fact that what we're doing is actually dangerous. Hhhhhh... okay... okay...okay
"Will you stop that? Your nervous ranting is rather annoying." Roku mutters from behind my forehead.
"Sorry, sorry I'm just... I'm nervous, okay? This is Virmire, we are going to the planet whe-"
"Where the original team messed up and people died, yes. This, however, is not the original team, but a collection of hardened soldiers and freelancers, as well as a small army of Alliance Marines. Unless Sovereign itself is waiting, I don't see what-"
"Don't say it!" I scream in my mind, unwittingly bringing my hands to my ears as if I can block out his voice.
"-could go wrong... what?"
"...you just had to say it, didn't you?" I ask, staring at the floor. The door opens ahead of us, revealing a wide corridor with sterile walls and a dull steel floor. Cruisers are not exactly as homey as the Normandy, that's for certain. A pair of phase-II armored marines are waiting for us on the other side of the doors as well, both saluting John and Jane.
"Captain, Commander. All ground forces must meet up in the hangar in one minute. Follow us please." One of them says, only revealed by the tipping of his helmet to be the speaker. Looking to my right, I can't help but notice how Tequila's stance has gone rigid with seeing more people in the infamous 501st-themed armor. Jane nods, and we all follow the pair of soldiers, single-filing through the admittedly much larger ship than our own. All across the corridors, lifts and staircases we come through, marines with and without armor, techs and ensigns are milling about, running or manning their stations.
After a short ride through an inter-ship transport rail, like a train inside a ship, we arrive at a hangar which you could easily fit the Normandy inside. The entire room is white-painted with a dull, grey scheme, with blue stripes going horizontally across the walls, as well as white stripes going over a smooth, black floor.
That's when I see it.
Or rather, them.
Along the walls, as well as at multiple separated areas, hundreds of the LA/AT's are sitting in waiting positions on the floor, all with armored doors opened and pilots going over the last checks before flight. The occasional gunner is also manning his... ball-thing, on the sides, swinging it around to test for any damage or malfunctions. As opposed to the ones in Star Wars, these ones are all blue-painted with white stripes, like the theme on Alliance ships, shuttles and buildings.
I slow down my pacing, actually bumping into Tequila who has her eyes, I think as it is damn hard seeing them through the polarized visors, on the gunships as well.
"Shit man..." She mutters, not even commenting on the fact that her eyes aren't in front of her at all.
"I know... never figured I would get to ride one of those. You?" I mutter, causing her to whip her face forward again. She rubs her neck with one of the gauntled hands, seemingly a bit nervous.
"Dios... I dunno, this is all..." She starts, nodding towards a marine, armored up as a clone, stepping into one of the beam-balls. Heh... 'beam-balls'.
"You do realize those share the same design as the Death Star, right?"
I ignore his comment, instead shrugging my shoulders;
"Unreal?" I offer, myself looking at the surreal sight. If someone a year back had told me I would be in the same room as a real, functional LA/AT gunship, I would have either scoffed at him or directed him to some professional help.
The only real factoring difference from what I can see, is that the four chin mounted laser cannons at the front of the gunships have been replaced with regular heavy machineguns. At least, those barrels look more like what you'd find mounted on a tank than laser cannons. Figure a single round could shred a geth either way, so why bother replacing what works?
"Isn't that kinda what you have been doing lately?"
"Meaning?"
"Since we assume Kasumi went to your sister, that would mean you somehow directed her to speak to someone in power, thereby gain the ability of invoking a change in already modern armaments, like this gunship." Roku says, sounding rather pleased with himself.
"Yeah I guess. I still think it's messed up that we're using their tech, considering they should just be a movie, something fictional." She says as we file in after the rest, towards massive rows of similarly armored marines, while multiple of the gunships seem to even have the cargo-storages for...Holy shit, I wonder if we have the Siege Walkers too?
Sadly, I don't see any of the lumbering machines. Sadly, because that would have been fucking awesome to have. I wonder, a Geth Colossus against one of those six-legged tanks... who would win?
"Teresa, I would have thought you had learned by now, 'fictional' seems to be nothing but a term for something unbelievable. Doesn't mean they don't exist." I say as I file in after Wrex, the massive Krogan filling up a fair amount of space in his grey and red armor.
"Right, because... " She starts, but the emerging of a man walking up a set of stairs to reach a podium shuts her up. I follow her example, instead looking at the probable commanding officer of the ship. He's wearing a heavy, military blue coat over a surprisingly bulky frame. Hell, even I can, from here, see that he is pure muscle. His head is decorated by short, blond hair set back in an old-fashioned style, like in 'Grease'. Only not as tall. And sunglasses. Who the hell wears sunglasses onboard a ship?
"Alright men... and women, if you choose to classify yourself as such. You all know why we are here, and what's at stake." The man says. I can't see his rank from here, but guessing as he is the ship's commander, I'll bet he's captain of higher. Also, he has the most badass Russian accent I've heard since... I dunno really, it just sounds good.
"Down there is Saren Arterius and all he represents. Vile and evil, he is one scumbagged son of a whore. He will stop at nothing to murder us all, murder me, murder you, murder your friends, your family, your infant son and daughter, your wife and husband. I say, we deny him that chance to bathe in human blood. When I am done speaking, you will all head to your designated troopships and head for the planet below. There, we will carry out such a vengeance for Eden Prime, Feros and Valhalla, that the very planet itself will shiver and tremble in mortal fear. Because we, we are the soldiers and sailors of the sixth fleet. We are the Raiders of the Alliance, the Raiders of Russia, but more than anything, we are humanity, and hand to God, we will prevail, we will shove that fucker so far down a shitter, Saren won't know where his ass is to his head. When we win today, we will have removed the threat of Saren from the galaxy, and whomever kills the fucker will have free alcohol for the rest of his life. Whomever kills the most geth will have free alcohol for the rest of his time in service. The rest of you? When we get back, Petrovsky is paying the tab for the entire fleet!" The man is shouting, reminding me a bit of how warriors in movies, or just leaders, like the president in Independence Day, motivated the troops.
"Now, get the hell down there, and make me proud!" He finishes, to actual applause and a roar of cheers. Gotta admit, the guy knows his speeches. Still, seeing as we aren't part of his ship, I just clap a few times before turning to Ash and Kaidan, the latter having his helmet in his hand while massaging his temples.
"You okay there Lieutenant?" Ash asks.
"I'm fine. Just... damnable headaches always come at the worst times." He mutters, sighing before placing his helmet on his head again. With a final hiss, the helmet has sealed his body inside a hermetic suit, perfectly capable of surviving in a vacuum, if memory serves.
"See, I knew there was a downside to the Jedi-crap." Tequila quips from the side. She has her own helmet on, the dark green stripes adorning its sides while the letters 'USCM' are scrippled on the chest with a black marker. One thing I didn't notice the last time are the vertical marks on her helmet, all aligned in fives. There has to be at least ten-fifteen of them.
"It's not... okay, I don't even know what 'Jedi-crap' is, but it's the module in my brain giving me the migraines." Kaidan mutters as we file out from the mass of soldiers, all of us following Jane and John with Wrex at the rear.
"Doesn't matter, it makes shit fly, it's Jedi-crap." Tequila says, making it clear that we could be explaining the very most grounded and basic physics of Element Zero and Biotics to her, and she would still hold on to the Jedi-crap.
"Kaidan can't choke a guy with his powers Tequila, and he can't parry laser-shots." I say, only idly paying much attention to where I'm walking.
"Lightsabers did that Fisher. Lightsabers. I don't see a lightsaber around here, so the parry-thing is moot." She says. Sighing, and wanting to punch something for her being so... juvenile, I suppose, I look up from the female marine next to me, and to what's in front of me.
The first thing I notice is that whomever painted this thing on, seemingly likes Asari. Why, one might ask, would there be a stripped-down Asari on the side of the gunship, riding a bomb, if not because the painter likes Asari? You know, this really brings up some sort of memory...
"Whatever do you mean by that?" Roku asks with a snide voice. One I have heard far too often coming from him. Refusing to answer the bugger, I step onto the gunship, following the other marines examples by sliding my Lancer into a lock above my head. Since there are no places I can hang my sword, and since I don't care much for the weird looks it would get me to pull it out, I just leave the big blade fastened to my back.
Still, gotta admit that compared to the Mako, I feel a bit more safe in this thing. Not only does it seem to be made from P-steel, which I remember being one fuck-ton stronger than regular titanium, especially since the new armor is made from it, but it also has a pair of beam-balls on its sides, each one with a hatch open while the gunner is making the final checks. Or, I think they are, hell if I know though. Pulling the hatches shut with almost mechanical movements, each gunner seems to slide into some sort of seating, then just looks ahead.
The inside is also a bit roomier than the Mako, being able to ferry more than fifteen people standing. The lights in the ceiling are flickered off, then to a dull, red color, and finally back to regular lighting. Giving Ash a look at that, she just shrugs.
"Standard practice." She says, as if it was... oh, actually it is pretty obvious.
"Alright ladies, welcome to the Minx. We hope you will enjoy your flight and choose us again for a safe return-flight. Please note that the peanuts are not for children under four, and that your seats must be in a vertical position once takeoff is commenced." The pilot says, drawing a few nervous laughs and chuckles. Oddly enough, it's the voice of a woman. Figures, riding into battle with a woman dressed as a clone trooper. Of course, looking at both Ash, Jane and Tequila, I suppose the point has already been made, proven and set moot.
I open up the private comms with Ashley;
"So... this is it, huh?" She asks, taking the words from my mouth. Her voice is calm, but the way her eyes look into mine, betray her worry. I place a hand on her shoulder, trying to give whatever comfort and assurance I can provide.
"Hey, hey look." I start, then realizing I never planned for a speech like the one I should probably be giving now. With a sigh, I just look into her eyes for a few moments, breathing in; "You know I love you, right?"
"And I you." She says with a firm voice, her eyes not blinking once.
"And that I would never let anything happen to you, right?"
"Too bad I can't boast the same thing. So far you've died twice." She chuckles, but it's a strained chuckle. Leaning forward, I touch the forehead of my helmet lightly to hers. A few of the others might stare, but fuck take the rules of fraternization, I could lose her in just an hour!
"Thrice, actually. I died to get here." I mutter, smiling at her.
"Damn... I hate this sort of preparing. Knowing what kind of hell you walk in to, but with no way of stopping it..." Ash says, responding to my touch by placing her outstretched palm over my breastplate. Or torso-armor, or whatever they call it.
"Well, we made it through Therum and Noveria, didn't we?" I ask, trying to brighten her up as we feel the lurch of the gunship taking off.
"And Valhalla." She adds.
"And Valhalla." I nod.
"Thomas, listen I..." She starts, then stops.
"I love you too." I say, smiling despite the situation.
Taking a step more into my embrace, which only now actually became an embrace, she shakes her head;
"It's... not that. I want you to promise me something, okay?" She says, pressing her eyes close for a moment before looking into mine again. Something starts churning in my stomach at her words;
"Anything." I say, dismissing whatever bad feelings he words gave me.
"If... if something does happen down there, to me... will you promise me to-" I cut her off by palming her helmet, a bit too fast and rough maybe, judging from her surprised expression.
"No. Not on your life, and not on mine. So don't even start making plans for something that I won't allow to happen." I say, surprised at the hard tones in my voice.
...
Zorya, Faia system
A cigarette. A strange thing that he had once sworn on his life that he would never touch one. Of course, back then the little smoke-sticks had been filled with tar and pitch and all sort of poisonous materials and the likes. Frankly it boggled his mind how people had taken so long to invent cigarettes that didn't kill your lungs when you smoked them. Of course, might have something to do with how the tobacco-industry had owned the government somewhere in the late sixties, but still. That was only twenty years back, meaning that it had still taken humanity more than two-hundred, if not three, years to get their fingers out of their collective bumholes and invent a cancer-free cigarette.
A new blow, and a new tingling feeling of relaxation crept through him from the windpipe and down through his lungs and out into the rest of his body. He held it in for a few moments, then exhaled, watching as the thin stream of smoke dissipated into the early morning air. When you were the man on duty, there were seldom, and if you were lucky that was, few things to do.
He rolled his shoulders, listening to the sound of his armored plates rolling with them, careful not to touch the new tattoo on his neck. It was a black symbol of the Blue Suns, with the addition of a five-pointed star where the center of the circle would have been.
To say that it had been mildly painful getting it, would be like saying Zorya was a bit humid in the middle of the day. He pondered, as he stood there with the cigarette between his fingers, if the Gods were there on Zorya as well, or if they had opted to stay back on Earth. Of course, ever since humanity had fully expanded across the home world, he knew that Valhalla wasn't to be found anywhere on Earth. Else they would have by now. Instead, maybe the Gods resided in a Valhalla in a dimension on the Valkyries could bring one to. As insane as it sounded, maybe that just might be it. After all, he himself had some experience with the whole 'dimensions' thing, having crossed over the barriers more than once.
He stood there for some time, pondering.
He had heard the news, of course. Everyone who paid attention to current events had. Valhalla, a human colony, had been attacked by enemy unknown. Apparently the Alliance had been quick to react and had sent an entire fleet consisting of everything from frigates to Carriers and Dreadnoughts to fight the enemy. Casualties seemed to have been limited to just a few thousand, according to the news he had seen. There hadn't been any footage or interviews, but there was nothing unusual in that. He had been in his fair share of engagements which either never reached the news, or did, but were manipulated and twisted to fit the ambitions or plans of whoever was in charge. But there was one thing he had bit down on, so to speak. One detail, however insignificant it might have been. There had been a ship to the planet some hours before the Alliance showed up. They hadn't revealed its name, but the fact that it would have had to get there while the enemy fleet was there, coupled with the fact that it was reported as 'an unnamed Alliance ship', caused him to wonder, just wonder, what the flying duck the Normandy might have been doing out there.
The sound of feet on the reinforced concrete behind him caused him to discard the cigarette, stomping it underfoot before he breathed in again. There were only two people on that planet he actually called "friends", and neither could handle a human cigarette. At least not after he had used it.
Stupid thing really, biology that was.
"You're up early." Magnus commented, recognizing the other person as Lantar Sidonis, the Turian Blue Suns operative. Said Turian walked up to his side, looking over the landscape from their position on the raised platform, sitting almost twenty meters above ground-level. He sighed, inhaling the brisk morning air with mandibles tight against his head.
"Figured I might as well get up." Sidonis said, not looking to the man next to him, but rather, out at the treetops he could look over. There weren't many, as the flora on Zorya was completely unchecked and unhindered just a mile around the base. The only way they sustained the roads used for land-based vehicles was with dozers and flamethrowers. As the Turian drew in breath again, neither spoke, instead just enjoying the fresh air.
"Lantar?"
"Hmm?" The Turian hummed, looking at the human to his right.
"Since we survived all this... did you ever get to send that file about human religions to that friend of yours?" Olafur asked, glancing sideways to the Turian. Sidonis hesitated for a moment, then nodded;
"I think so. Don't know if he received it, but yeah. Also, it's not just your religions. It's all the cultures of Earth." He said, spreading his mandibles in a slight smile. At least, Magnus was fairly certain it was a smile. He still had some problems reading Turians.
"Dude... even humans don't understand all human cultures. Do you have any idea just how many cultures we have?" The human asked with a gaping expression. Sidonis spread and tightened his mandibles for a few moments.
"Well, there's the Alliance, that's the united faction of all your cultures, and then there's Sinese... wait, Chinese culture, and that culture where they depict human females with Earth-hanars, and... what?" Sidonis said, noticing how Olafur had smacked his own forehead.
"Nothing... nothing..." He muttered, although it didn't look like nothing, with the way the Magnus twitched.
"Well, then there's Murican, I think they are in the Northern America somewhere, and there's someplace called 'Soviet Russia' and 'Nazi Germany'... I think the continent of Europe has the most complex cultures." He offered, looking back over the trees. Magnus fought, very hard, not to choke on a combination of shock and laughter.
"Lan- La... Oh Thor help me... Lantar, Where in the name of Odin did you get your information?" He managed to ask, hitting his armored torso while trying to get his voice under control. It didn't work, and he had to bow down to get the needed air to laugh.
"Huh? The human internet of course... why?" He asked with a genuinely confused tone.
"Just... if you ever publish anything, anything... I want a copy." Magnus grinned, keeping his face as straight as he could. It helped that the scar on his mouth had stopped hurting some days ago.
"Sure, least I could do." The Turian shrugged, turning back to look at the trees, then to the entrance, or exit depending on your perspective, as the door opened, revealing the one other person on the planet Magnus would call "Friend". Although, even if the human was oblivious to the fact, Sidonis knew when a Quarian was enamored, sold... or just plainly in love. He gave Magnus a shove, gesturing at the door to get him to stand straight.
For all their camaraderie, Tara was their superior.
"Magnus, Operative Sidonis." She said, her voice the epitome of professionalism and calm. Both snapped to a salute. Most didn't think so, but even in mercenary organizations, such as the Blue Suns, military discipline was valued and enforced. There was a reason they were so damnable hard for the authorities to put down after all.
"Ma'am. Didn't think you'd be out this time of the morning." Sidonis said. He didn't fail to notice the smile, small as it might be, that replaced the grin on Magnus's face. It was not like a simple happy smile. It was... something else. Still, even if he had studied humans for more than two years, Lantar had yet to fully understand and read the different meanings of their smiles, looks and gestures.
"Never was one for snoozing." Tara said, even if she did sound a bit tired. She shifted her eyes to Magnus. It was one of the moments where she could appreciate having the mask helmet on. The only good thing caused by their exile was that the helmet made it possible for her to drink in the rough features of her target, fully swallowing all the details of his face and eyes. She found her eyes wander lingering at the scar across his mouth and cheek, smiling. In a way, that scar was a good thing, as it had only been his injuries that gave her a reason to help him. Had he been fine afterwards, she would have thanked him, but then just left.
And that would have been the biggest mistake she would ever have made.
As it was now, she could barely stand considering a life where she couldn't just turn around and see him there. He didn't have to be doing anything, or even looking back at her. Just being able to see him, to know he was there, was enough. Thát, and the times where he had been naked waist-up, had been some of the moments where she felt the heat rush through her.
Still, she had a job to do, and a briefing to carry out.
"Meet up in the garages in ten minutes. We have a mission." She said, causing the both of them, the males that was, to shift in their places before nodding. She turned back around, walking inside the facility again.
Magnus sighed, shuffling his feet before rubbing his neck. He still didn't like the way he felt...weird, whenever Tara was close to him. It was like he couldn't think completely straight, and he got a weird tingling, buzzing feeling in his legs. Not fully sure what to do with himself in the next ten minutes, he pulled out the case of cigarettes, holding it towards the Turian.
"No thanks, I don't smoke." Sidonis said, waving his hand. Magnus nodded, pulling out one for himself before stuffing the pack back inside the compartment in his armor. Sighing again, something that had become a habit after his return from the dead, he lit the stick and took a deep breath.
He noticed how Sidonis was silent, but looking at him with a gleam in those beady, green eyes.
"A penny for them." He said, hoping the Turian knew the saying.
"You know... it's a weird thing." Sidonis said in a casual tone. Still, when a species had a double set of voice boxes, there was no such thing as 'sounding casual' to other species. The Turian briefly considered if that too was worth a study. Not like he had much else to do in-between their missions.
"What is?"
"I have been, I admit, studying your kind since the first time I saw you. In some ways, you are so much like the Asari, in others, like my people. In others again, you are like the Quarians, and in others still, I remember a Krogan when I see how humans can fight. Your N7's especially." Sidonis said. Magnus rolled his shoulders at that, waiting for the Turian to continue.
"In others again, you are like the Salarians. Pilfering and tinkering with everything you can get your hands on. Sometimes, I wonder if the Spirits looked at all their creations, then decided to mash them all up and make a new species. You are the latest to join us after all." He finished, scratching the side of his head.
"If you are trying to call us 'perfect' or 'Spirits-sent', then I suppose I'm flattered." Magnus said, then briefly stopped his train of thought to consider two things. The first was what Sidonis had mentioned;
"You mentioned the N7?" He said. The Turian gave a small, strained chuckle at that.
"First Contact War, as you call it. When you started retaliating, some of our news networks began showing footage of your soldiers in battle. After a while, they only showed the soldiers with red and white stripes on their armor. Maybe it was because they fought like Krogan, but with the strategy of us Turians. The speed of Salarians and the occasional biotic power like an Asari. I think, even if we all wanted your soldiers dead, or at least imprisoned, that some sort of respect grew for you." Sidonis admitted, looking over the trees before turning to look at his human colleague.
"Respect?"
"My people are soldiers, all of us. We respect prowess in war, and if there was one thing your N7 showed us, it was prowess. Soldiers on each side of a conflict don't have to hate each other." Sidonis said, spreading his mandibles in what was definitely a pondering expression.
"Well, they grow to hating each other at some point. That's what having people shooting at you does." Magnus scoffed.
"I've been doing a lot of reading on your cultures, you know." Sidonis started.
"Yeah, but the wrong ones. Sounds like what you read were internet-memes, not historical facts."
"Let me finish. I've been reading your history as well. Sometime back in the century before the last one, your race had the biggest global conflict in your recorded history. You called it... Earth War One?"
"World War One, but yeah, we did. Millions of dead guys on both sides, Germany lost that one by the way." Magnus said.
"Around sometime in that war, you had the period where the temperature drops and the water starts becoming snow and ice. I think you called it... Winter?" Sidonis offered, gesticulating mildly in the process.
"Yeah. We have a seasonal event there too. Christmas, we call it."
"Ah yes, 'Christmas' the seasonal event where humans give each other silly presents or simply buy needless stuff to placate your children... the Turians have dismissed that claim." Sidonis said with a smirk. Magnus just stared at him with a mouth going slowly open and close.
"Did you just..."
"Imitate my councilor? Yeah, never fancied him much. Figures I might as well jump on the wave." He said, chuckling.
"Wave?" Magnus asked.
"Ever since reports started coming out, in somewhat closed channels though, they started spreading that apparently Captain Anderson, that old human from the Normandy, was right and that these 'Reapers' seem to have been real anyway. Don't know what they are though, but that's beside the point. Sparatus became somewhat famous because a reporter managed to get a close-up with him saying" Sidonis started, putting up his hands in air-quotes; "Ah yes, 'Reapers' the immortal race of sentient starships, supposedly waiting to kill us all... or something like that. Now, people all over are using him in the weirdest ways."
"Like?" Magnus prodded, now more than just curious.
"Saw a picture the other day. I didn't understand the point, but it was one of a human woman, and it read 'Ah yes, 'female logic' the allegedly existing method of understanding women... we have dismissed that claim'... I wonder what it means though." He asked, then noticed how Magnus seemed to have lost his jaw somewhere on the floor.
"You have got to be... Loki bite me! How is that even- fuck me, I have to see that for myself!" He laughed, then held himself back, rubbing his neck; "When we are done, I mean... anyway, what did you mean by Christmas?" He said, bringing the conversation back to the subject.
"Well, at some point in that war, while it was Christmas, the soldiers stopped shooting at each other and started dancing and celebrating the event with each other. Some traded tobacco, others alcohol. They said it was a sign that humans, even in the worst of times, can find some peace and joy." Sidonis said, a small sigh escaping his voice.
"You do know they started killing each other again straight after, right?"
"Besides the point. My point was, that even if two sides fight each other, they can still come together in peace. Otherwise, what would stop you from pulling out a gun and shooting me dead?" The turian commented more than asked.
"Times change...there was something else though."
"A penny for them?" Sidonis tried. Magnus gave him a flat look, the sighed, rubbing his neck again;
"Sido... Lantar, you're a Turian, right?"
"I'm amazed you figured that one out. What gave me away?" He chuckled, although he didn't understand the question.
"And your kind has known the Quarians for hundreds of years, right?"
"Until they messed up and we grew shit for brains, booting them instead of helping them... why?"
"Well... I...Tara has been acting really weird around me. I don't know why, but-" Magnus started. He hated being this awkward. It was something new, something he wasn't used to. Back in the day, he could talk about anything to anyone. In theory, he could have marched up to the Queen of Denmark and chatted her up. Of course, he would probably be caught by the Bearskins before that happened, but that wasn't the point. He used to be able to say, with all honesty, that he didn't know what 'awkward' was. He had been feeling like that in several occasions in the past seven years though. First, it had been how he hadn't been able to say anything smart or snarky around Jane, and now he had no idea of how to handle that Quarian girl when she behaved like that around him.
A small piece of his mind considered the possibility that she might be in love with him, another that she might want to ransom him to the geth for the Homeworld. Another again considered if she wanted to fill him with drugs and deliver him to the Hegemony, another still that she wanted to eat him. All equally ridiculous and impossible.
So it was within reason that he was taken aback by the Turian's next words;
"She loves you, that's fairly obvious." Sidonis just stated it as if it was the most obvious fact in the galaxy.
"What..." Magnus mumbled with hoarse voice, not wanting to give his mind even the chance to comprehend what a small piece of it had suggested as early as on Illium.
"She's in love with you... madly, I'd say. Quarians have some rather subtle body-language in some areas, and more evident in others. Maybe it's because you don't know Quarians that you haven't seen them, but the signs are there. Also, didn't she touch her helmet to your forehead at some point?" The turian asked, revealing a definitely smirking grin. Even Magnus could recognize it as that.
"Well... yeah, at the celebration, but... I just hugged her, you know?"
"Ah yes... I forget, you humans are somewhat expressive in your social behavior. Constant touching and reassurance is common in your species. Well, they are in the Quarians too, but..."
"But they are for couples..." Magnus grumbled, slapping his own forehead. It wasn't that he didn't like Tara, hell he really liked her. But, the thing just was, he couldn't help but feel like he would be betraying Jane's memory by just taking a new girl, crude as it sounded. Starting a new relationship might as well be saying that what he had had with Jane, had never been real or happened.
"And family... but since that would require you to have three fingers and shit for immune systems..." Sidonis explained with a slow, immensely satisfied voice.
"Fuck me..." Magnus cursed, once more slapping his own forehead; "Alright, say it to my face: What does the helmet-touching mean? And don't you dare say-"
"A kiss." Sidonis said, looking like he was about to laugh, thought not with entertainment or cruelty. It was more like 'bursting from excitement'. The Turian's grin spread even wide as Magnus slapped both hands to his forehead, slumping down on a crate with a low, desperate moaning.
"Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck... meeeeeeeeee..." He exclaimed while running his fingers, pressed against his face, down his forehead, over his cheeks and down his chin. He then doubled over and had to support his head with his hands. Sidonis chuckled and patted him on the shoulder blade... at least, he was fairly certain that was where it was beneath the armor.
"Hey, cheer up. So what if she's a Quarian and you'll probably never see her outside the suit. She has the shapes to make any man happy, and that voice. I swear, it sometimes sends a chill down my back hearing her speak. Then again, that what listening to all Quarian women does to me." He said. The flat, weary look Magnus shot him wasn't understood correctly; "What? I'm a Quarifile. There're worse things to be.
"Gods help me..." Magnus managed to croak out.
"Well, I'd say you should be happy about it actually. Quarians and humans are, I think, anatomically similar in many ways. Of course, your kind have weird legs and all, plus two extra fingers, but the rest is there. So, what's the problem?" Sidonis asked, sitting down on a crate next to the one Magnus was sitting on.
There was a heavy, awkward silence that lasted for a couple of minutes before Magnus sighed, looking at the Turian. Maybe it was the universe playing loose with rules, that he had started out a match-maker between Tali and Garrus, and now a Quarian was in love with him, and a Turian wanted to set them up. Had he not been close to a stroke, he might have found it funny.
"Lantar... have you ever been with a woman?"
"Well, I'd say I've been around... oh, you mean it's because you haven't, and now you're nervous if Tara might want to, you know..." Sidonis smirked, setting himself up to better be able to council the no-doubt nervous first-timer. After all, while Quarians couldn't often leave their suits, they were known to... compensate, in other ways.
Magnus shot him a look.
"What? Wha- no! No no no no... no. No, I have been with women before. That's the problem really..."
"Emotionally scared?" The Turian asked, looking Magnus in the eyes.
"Maybe..."
"So... they were so horrible you decided to like men instead? Can't say I understand, but to each-" The Turian started.
"Wha- What? No, no will you just stop assuming I'm gay for a moment?" Magnus stuttered.
"Sorry... Then, what?"
"Well... there was this... no girl, woman. She... how do I describe it? Imagine a spirit, if you have female spirits, taken human form, or something. I used to be in the Alliance military, and that was when I met this... this goddess." Magus said, trailing off as his mind started reminiscing.
"Beautiful?"
"Beyond beautiful. She was strong, hard, tough... dangerous too. She had hair so red you'd think it was fake, and eyes so green they could drill into your soul. Looking into them was like looking at a pair of perfect emeralds...she could be the most fearsome, horrifying force of nature on the battlefield, and the next day you would see her in a 'kiss the cook' shirt, sauntering about like nobody's business...Gods above, I loved her... still do..." He muttered the last part, almost feeling ashamed that he was talking about it with someone again. He still viewed it as his own fault what had happened between them, what had caused his death and departure.
"So... forgive a Turian, but... what happened?"
"Things went wrong... just... wrong. You wouldn't believe it if I told you, just how wrong it all went. I don't know what happened to her, I just know I can never see her again...but I still love her." He admitted, feeling his chest tighten up at the mere mention of her, much more so when he was actively talking about how he would never see her again.
"I see... so, you don't know what happened to her?"
"No... and I really wish I did. Even if I found out she had ended up with new man, I wouldn't give a flying shit about it if it meant she was happy. Thor strike me down if I lie, but she was the only person I ever cared more about than myself..."
"Sounds like a special woman indeed. So, what stopped you from tracking her down? You could probably hire a detective over the Extranet, you know." Sidonis tried. Magnus just looked at him with a tired look, shaking his head.
"A lot of things. I tried, but... she just... nowhere to be found." He muttered.
"Hmm... sounds like, and forgive me for saying it, didn't hire the right people." Sidonis said. Magnus didn't answer at first, instead opting for long sigh before looking at the Turian, getting to his feet in the process.
"It doesn't matter... but... thanks for listening Lantar." He muttered, picking up his helmet from its position, hanging from his waist in a hook. He didn't look at the Turian again until he had the thing secured over his head, sealed and shut.
"Always here for you buddy. By the way, I'm pretty sure we should, how do you put it, 'haul ass'? The ten minutes are almost up." Sidonis said. Despite himself and the emotional despair he was in, Magnus felt a small grin come to his lips. Having Sidonis around was handy in more ways than one.
...
Arcturus Station, Arcturus stream
Office of Colonel Exar 'Eduard' Kun.
15:31
Colonel Exar Kun felt like he was having one of his better days. In truth, there might be a reason for it that would see him, if not shot, the at least discharged from service with little to no honor.
Nah, he would probably get shot.
"Hey sis... well, Anna or... Fuck me, do I call you sis or ma'am? Still a bit confused as to who's the elder sibling, you know? I was born first and you are the oldest... right, getting off track... (I swear, the one time I write shit down I remember the 'delete' button doesn't exists here. Who the fuck thought it was brilliant to delete the delete button?)
Anyway... far as I know, Kasumi works for you, right? If she doesn't then just forget I ever sent this and just ehm... congratz on your inventing and all that...But if you have this half-crazy little Asian woman working for you to get all that stuff from some people outside our galaxy, then can you give her the message that their government is being ruled by some old psychopath who actually is the sith lord they are all looking for, and that he's setting himself up for supremacy and shit? Well, not 'shit' didn't mean to write that, but... ######## if I ever find whoever removed the delete option I'll strange him in his own intestines... fuck, 'Delete' Delete' 'Delete!'
Anyway, just tell Kasumi to tell them that this guy called Palpatine is a really bad guy and is pretty fucking dangerous and is actually in control of the war and all that shit... why the hell do I swear so much in writing? I swear, I'm normally more polite!
At any rate, their clone soldiers will kill the Jedi when they get told to carry out an order sixty-six. Just keep that in mind, okay?
Thomas"
Exar looked at the message in its entirety, smirking. While it hadn't been planned, the Admiral's untimely succumbing to some sort of disease had made it all the easier for him to simply hack her Omnitool remotely, access her mail-box and set himself up as receiver. Everything would still go through to her as normal, and he wouldn't be visible in the system unless someone manually went into his Omnitool to check. In other words, not even Fisher's advanced AI-helper would notice anything.
And now, Exar Kun was reaping a just harvest.
It wasn't that he wanted anything negative to happen to his current home, he liked it just fine and would do whatever he could to prevent the "Reapers" from winning. But, as a champion of the Force, and a loyal servitor to the Darth's, he knew it was his duty to make sure the plans of Darth Sidious were not found out, much less disturbed or stopped.
History, he knew, had to take its due course, and he knew that if the Purge was not carried out, the weapons needed to claim victory over an enemy so powerful that it made the Separatist War seem insignificant, would never be created.
So, with a few deft presses on holographic buttons, he interacted with Admiral Anna Fisher's mailbox, and deleted the message.
...
Virmire, Hoc System
615.7m above ground level.
15:43 (Local time, Virmire Equator)
If there was one thing Corporal Tequila could have been just fine without, it was that she had to stay standing in the interior of the gunship. While she had to admit it was more practical, as it would allow for instant exit from the aircraft, it left her needing to shift her stance once every fifth second or so. This in turn, left her sore footed and generally more anxious than normally. From what she could deem around her, even if the rest of the gunship's occupants were wearing helmets as well, it was not an exclusive mood. Several of the marines the crew shared the gunship with were looking about in the compact space, couching lightly or simply scraping their feet over the floor every now and then. It didn't matter whether you were professional or not. When you are entering battle in a shuttle without the ability to see outside, it tended to ground your nerves.
"Ten seconds!" A voice called. Jesus Christo, they were making her feel like this was a re-enactment of D-Day, with the whole 'ten seconds' thing. Of course, a re-enactment would be to prefer over this, as it would exclude deadly projectiles being shot at her. She looked down her armored body while she was thinking, noticing how the dark-green stripes seemed to grow bigger and smaller each time she looked at them. It was always a strange thing, feeling the pre-battle fear before you entered a zone filled to the brim with people wanting to kill you. The difference here just was that the bad guys were either robots or tech-zombies, not humans.
"Five Seconds!" the same voice called out again. She gave a quick glance to her rifle, the stocky automated weapon resting alongside the other weapons in their holders, ready to be drawn out at a moment's notice. It was strange, again, how something as trivial as the M41A Pulse Rifle could give her a sense of security while the rest of the guns in the room fired hyper-sonic rounds with high-tech guns and add-ons to boot. Her own rifle only had a modified version of the anti-electronic rounds used for fighting synthetic enemies. Still, combine that with the fact that her own rifle pissed on shields like they weren't even there, the fact that her gun still packed as much of a punch as the rest of them, and you had one piece of hell-wrecker to use against machines.
Tequila sighed again looking over the heads of the more than twenty soldiers in the gunship. All looked horrifyingly identical, all having the same purple stripes down their helmets. It was as if she was in a room filled with clones, and not the good kind. Still, she shoved it from her mind, glancing behind her. Wrex, the enormous space-toad was towering above her, holding his shotgun in a strong grip. The reason was that there simply wasn't room for the Claymore in the holsters. They had been made for human weapons, not near-vehicular grade guns that could rip a space-elephant in half and remove the man behind it in one go.
Then, she started feeling the trembling. At first it was subtle. There really wasn't much in it, but soon, as the trembling, explosions shockwaves came in much more rapid successions, it was clear just why the man had shouted 'five seconds'.
The seconds had counted down to the point where they would be within estimated firing-range of any eventual Anti-Air guns on the ground.
Curse be the fact that I have school besides this, or I'd be writing much more often... oh well, can't have it all.
I really apreciate that so many of you leave reviews. It makes me all warm and happy each time I spot a new review, and even more so when it's from a new reader.
That being said, I have been toying with an idea I would like some feedback on. As you know, I'm writing a Skyrim/Avatar story set in the time of Korra... Well, how about one set in the time of Aang, but with someone from Skyrim NOT the Dragonborn? Just a thought really, and I could just as well do a Skyrim/Dragon Age Origins story with the same Skyrimers. Still, since I have two stories going, it won't be for some time. Just thought I'd put it here, since I will probably have forgotten it by the time I publish the next Bender of the Thu'um chapter.
Right... now, since we are going to spend one fuck-ton of time steamrolling Virmire "So Hell wouldn't have it", I ask that you keep in mind that I am not the fastest paced writer. Hell, little really happens in my chapters compared to other people who could get one mission done in one or two chapters. Not that I am going to change though, I very much like the amount of detail I can pour into my chapters, even if it means simple missions will take longer.
Alright, I think that's it. No Codex Updates for now, just the same amount of messed up mutilations of canon and Star Wars tech. I still remember Zaeed's thoughts on the LA/AT gunships' turrets "Hanging on the sides like a pair of testicles" from what I remember. Gods I wish I could have more of him in the story, but truth is he is more of a supporting character in my story. At least in this one. Besides, if he was on the crew, there wouldn't be a challenge in this for the good guys. Zaeed would just run up to Saren, kick him in the balls, shoot him in the knee, pour gasoline over him and light the Turian bastard on fire.
Also, as you might have noticed, Virmire's base if of a somewhat different layout in my story, as it seems more fitting for a man in hiding to have his base below ground. Not sticking up like a sore thumb.
Alright, this time I'm serious. See you guys later, KTHXB
I never stop hearing that sentence in Master Chief's voice. If you know what I mean, then you are awesome. If not, then you are awesome-to-be.