FORMER NEW CHAMBERLAIN COLONY

SECOND LARGEST MOON OF BORR

EXODUS CLUSTER

OCTOBER 2188

THE FIRST SOUND HE HEARD WAS A HOLLOW GROAN. The groan was all around him, muttering through the ground, rolling slowly through the air, a stuttering doleful lamentation that occasionally crackled, snapped off an angry hiss and then returned to it funeral dirging. When his vision cleared, Flynn took a few moments to attempt to orient himself, realized that was futile and did his best to trust gravity as to the approximate direction of up. He gave it a wobbling try, decided he couldn't trust gravity after all and waited a few more moments. The light available was scattered through a reddish-grey foggy gloom that tasted like oily ozone. He shifted, felt himself sink a little, made a fist and brought up a handful of whatever it was to sway in his yet-blurry vision. He opened his hand and a white dusty substance floated away with the groan. He himself was coated with it, a ghostly white in the lamenting haze.

Soft. He had landed on something soft – well, reasonably soft. Even a mountain of down-filled pillows will feel like smacking a wall if you fall from high enough. He was in a rather great deal of pain he could have done without and was likely one big Irish bruise, but he was moving and conscious. That'd do for now. He coughed. Nothing a litre of good poitín couldn't cure.

"Duke!" Flynn stood, then oriented himself. He was on a huge mound of mine tailings. The taste of the stuff billowing as he moved told him it was likely gypsum sand, harmless and soft enough to have saved his life and with extended luck, Duke as well. It was sticky, likely due to the greasy damp that clung to everything, but that was the least of his problems. He spotted a slash of dark on the white pile, made his way to it and was rewarded with the battered form of his old comrade. A quick check showed him still alive. The sky above was a red-lined black roiling mass that thundered on occasion, crackled with green lightning. A fine fall of black snow swirling and darting to the ground. The groaning he realized, was coming from the sky itself.

Flynn sat back, vainly tried to get the dust from his hair while he pondered his situation, then did a doubletake when he realized his hand had come away from his head red. Pain lanced through his temples and he felt a knobby lump behind his right ear.

"Well, Duke," he began, voice hoarse. "The thing abou' me luck is that it's… luck." He chuckled. "Sorry, no refunds." Another cough, and a small red spray misted the air when he did it. He twisted slightly to his right, felt a grinding agony shoot up his side. Great. Yes, Irish luck, Dullahan-level. It gave and took in equal amounts. The tight-fitting armor he wore under his clothes (simple insurance and an old habit) was keeping things from moving too much, but it did nothing for pain. Still-and-all, he could have been much worse off. Hell, if a couple of busted ribs was the worst of it, he'd thank the great whatevers and call it a good day. A wave of pain sloshed back and forth in his skull and seemed as if it was in no apparent hurry to bugger off any time soon.

"Feck it. This is'na abou' me." He stood again, saw a gantry sticking out near the pile they were on, a gantry that ran back to the incidental road open pit mining always produced. A look up and a fortuitous flash of lightning showed him how far they'd fallen and he shook his head. Luck? Miracle? Didn't care. Alive was good for the moment, and keeping it that way meant getting out of here. A quick check netted him a painkiller from a belt-pouch and he got himself up. Surprisingly, he still had Brigid, and Duke as yet had his purloined rifle on his back. Good. Armed was good. You never knew what awaited you in any gloom.

Another check on Duke and he pulled his friend from the pile to hoist him over his shoulders into a fireman's carry. He staggered as pain shot up his side, but gritted his teeth and told it to piss off. During those days in the crucible of hell called Torfan, this man was closer than his own brother. Flynn would bear him to the edge of hell and beyond, and he would trust himself and his not-inconsiderable physicality to get them both where they needed to be. The sand made it rough going but he made it to the gantry then shoved Duke onto it, pulled himself up and sat for a moment. That way. That way went up. That ship must have destroyed the colony. No other explanation for the dark and thunder. He picked Duke back up, settled him on his shoulders, huffed a breath out and started off. The painkiller began to kick in, and his discomfort ebbed off. Not enough, but into tolerable ranges.

One foot in front of the other. Gusts of hot wind made him sway and thick clouds of cloying matter made him gag and cough. One foot, the next, his mind fixed on his goal. Duke's weight was only noticed when Flynn stumbled in a particularly strong buffet of wind.

You should get a medal for this. Duke told him.

"Aye," he replied without thinking. "I've got me a few already."

A Star of Terra too, for your actions saving that troop of marines on Torfan.

Flynn blinked, stopped walking. Was Duke not unconscious?

"Hold on…" Flynn pulled Duke's head around, re-checked. Same as before. Puzzled, but not alarmed, he muttered, "There ye go. Still out cold."

Is that a problem?

"Well, yeah, it's kinda important 'cause it means one of us is'nae in his right mind."

We really don't have time for this.

"Fine. Explain how yer doin' this, and then we'll keep going."

Explain what? Flynn watched for lip movement, got none.

"The non-moving of yer lips yet yer voice still going on."

Is it important? Flynn tried to match lips to words one more time, gave up.

There was a sudden crackle, a thunderous boom, and Flynn instinctively dove for the ground, Duke rolling away from him as he hit, his vision red from the pain that shot up his side, through his head.

Portal charge! Wait for secondaries!

"Roight!" Flynn rolled to a rock pile dragging Duke after him. He lay there and panted, pain drumming through his chest. There was a rumble that vibrated under him, seemed to go down into the ground a distance, then rumble back up before petering out. Below them, there was a grinding sliding boom and dust billowed up. Bits of the mine were collapsing. Somewhere high above him he thought he saw a light spear through the gloom, but it went away before he could be sure.

Wait - a portal charge? In a mine? Duke must've hit his head a little too hard. Flynn checked.

Yup. Unconscious.

Not on Torfan. On New Chamberlain. Those new lads attacked an' destroyed the place. Fer some reason, Duke thinks he's back on Torfan.

I appreciate you lending me your legs.

"I've carried ye this far, haen't I? It canna be all that to get there." Flynn spat more blood on the dusty ground. They both appeared as splotchy dim-grey specters, streaked with white sand, black snow and dirt. "When I make a mess o' things, I do it large."

I appreciate your consistency, if nothing else.

Flynn cough-chuckled as he rolled over onto his back closing his gritty, burning eyes. Every movement was a new shade of pain, every blink made his world purple. This was all a little too familiar, and he could see why Duke might think they were back on Torfan. Flynn suspected that the weapon that destroyed the colony had reached even down into the mine. His guts felt twisted and pulled upon, every muscle sore, his broken ribs stabbing in protest of every breath. He suspected that only his size and armor had saved him from anything more serious. His head was a different story. That lump on it had grown and while the bleeding had slowed, the pain was getting steadily worse. Far below, there was a heavy rumble that vibrated through the whole mine. Something very large and very heavy groaned and toppled downward.

You kept talking to keep me awake. You even sang - poorly I might add - a few of your favourite Irish ditties.

"Irish men sing badly when they're sober. Better when drunk, 'cause they mean it more, then." A hiss and a rockfall made him open his eyes. "This fooking mine is gonna collapse. Gotta go."

Flynn climbed painfully to his feet, had to brace himself against the ground as his brain slid hard to the left and almost toppled him again, vision greying. He waited. Far beneath him, the vibration was building again. His vision cleared, mostly and he checked on Duke again. The light was only incrementally better, but he could see a large bruise on Black's face that extended into the man's hair, which meant nothing good. His left leg was at an angle Flynn didn't like, and he'd shed some blood of his own but as far as Flynn could tell it was mostly superficial. The man was still breathing, so he was still ahead of the game.

Duke went back onto his shoulders and Flynn staggered a little but steadied himself.

"Roight. Lef' foot, roight foot. Feet move th' body, and ye get places." He grimaced as pain shot through his knee. "Pain's fer the other guy. Simple enow. One-two." Pain or not, Flynn started walking again.

'We came in strong, a brigade, brigade, tall and proud, no heroes were made, made.' You remember that?

"Aye, well enough." A breath. "And we march on, march on, dead and gone, dead and gone… we are Torfan's Few, the Few..."

I think Tac-Com was wrong. There was easily full company-strength in that Eastside bunker complex.

"At the time, maybe. For'ard Recon said th' borer charge took out thirty-eight in the open annex. If'n there were a full C in there, they scarpered after."

Who did we lose taking it?

Flynn pursed his lips as he trudged on, trying to remember.

"Most'a Jane Morgan's A Company sappers, I think. Craiggson was hoppin' mad after Mad Dog ordered his thirds and fourths inta th' Bent Gap."

And why not? The batarians killed every last one.

"They closed the fookin' Gap though. Not one BT escaped." Flynn climbed painfully over an anti-ground vehicle barrier, kept going. "Still counts."

Indeed. I believe there should be a junction coming up – two doors and a short corridor.

"No, Duke. Tha' was on Torfan. We're not there, we're here." Flynn stumbled, went down hard on his bad knee, cursed.

You did hit your head rather hard.

Something blew in the mine lower down with a great coughing roar. Blue flame billowed out of the side of the pit wall sending tons of rock flying then roared high enough to singe them. It gushed out of its hole as Flynn dragged himself and Duke away from the edge of it. It did not look to be stopping any time soon, and faint muffled pops under it told Flynn that whatever had produced that was in the process of producing more. A moment later and slightly higher, another blue flame punched its way through the rock wall. A plasticrete barrier under the new hole began to melt, and Flynn knew it was time to give it as much distance as possible. Up he went.

Around the turn, unseen, a hopper full of gravel chose then to tilt and then spill, a few tons of gravel scrabbling down.

Guards! Duke harsh-whispered in his head, and Flynn was against the wall before he'd realized what he was doing, Brigid in hand. He waited, tense, adrenaline surging, pain fading. Duke's weight on his shoulders vanished. Another few moments, and Flynn risked a peek.

"I t'ink they're gone."

He eased from the wall, kept Brigid in one hand, edged his way around the turn. Nothing. A heavy excavator blocked the way. A rock underfoot and Flynn's foot twisted, his knee protesting, and he nearly fell, bouncing off the pit wall.

"Fookin' hell! One decent torch is too much ta ask, yeh?" A deep breath, a crack of his neck vertebrae and he proceeded to the excavator. He tested his ankle. No pain. One small blessing, at least. "The mine. Nawt the tunnels. The mine," He reminded himself.

Do you know where you're going?

"Aye – up. I thought it obvious."

How are you feeling, anyway?

"Fine. I've gone farther in worse shape." The excavator was easily the width of the road, but had a walkway built on, and he climbed aboard. The other side was a sheer drop to the bottom of the mine. Once a day was his limit.

Would it be worth shorting anything out while we're in here?

"In where?"

Looks like a relay shunt junction. Might control power to this side of the bunker. Let's see how they like it.

"It's an excavator, Duke. In a mine."

That's ridiculous. Why would there be batarians in a mine?

"There hain't!" The railing on the walkway helped as he slumped against it a moment, his back aching.

You heard them! At least a dozen out there patrolling. I know you don't fear much, but don't make light of this. There's a substantive difference between bravery and foolhardiness!

"I killed three hunnerd BT's on Torfan!" He said, peering at Duke's face. Still unconscious. Flynn needed a rest, but he wasn't about to admit it out loud.

You need a rest.

"I'm fine!" Flynn yelled at him indignantly. "An' thar ain't no fookin' BT's in dis moine!"

Keep your voice down! You know, you grow more incomprehensible the more Irish you become!

Flynn opened his mouth to retort, closed it. Now that sounded familiar.

"Aye… you also said tha' exact thing ta me in Oberon Base on Torfan."

Of course I did. On Torfan.

"We're nawt on bloody Torfan!"

I think, in your present state, it's unwise for you to jump to conclusions.

"Oh, fer feck's sake!"

Don't swear. It's unattractive.

"Great. Now you sound like Miri."

Well, maybe she was right.

"Don't fookin' start."

Flynn made it around the heavy excavator. Its lights were still on, giving him a better vantage on the road. The driver was very dead. He contemplated using the thing for a moment, decided against it. He'd been trained to drive and pilot a great many vehicles, but there were too many crumbly slopes around, and slides were still thundering down as he went, taking shacks and vehicles to the bottom of the mine with them. He walked for another twenty minutes or so, trying to remember the words to a song he'd heard an asari jazz singer warble on Illium. He'd been there with…

See any resin? Duke interrupted.

Flynn shook his head.

"Nawt on Torfan, fer Christ's sake, Duke! Get it through yer head!"

Just answer the question.

On Torfan, batarians had an explosive that consisted of a clear plastic resin, infinitely malleable. Even a small ball-bearing-sized bit of it could blow a man into many, many small pieces. Most grunts called it 'Squint Spit'. The BT's would shape it and paint it to mimic latches or access pads. Since at the time the Alliance led with biotics in any kind of urban warfare, even the faint static discharge from their amps would set the stuff off. Of the full brigade sent to root the batarians out of their subterranean stronghold, with a five hundred biotics in, only fifty of the B-slingers made it off that bloody rock. The batarians had rigged everything they could think of, and then some.

"No. No feckin' resin."

Do you remember that nightclub on Ashara Indra?

"Ah – see, that proves you hit yer head! Ye were never there!"

She could move when she wanted too, though. Just seriously drew the eye…

"Aye, an' too bloody good fer the likes o' me! You keep rubbin' it in an' I'll trow yer dead weight back over th' side!"

Another grating roar, and a rockslide took out the excavator he'd just passed. Flynn didn't look back, just kept trudging. Small rocks ricocheted off them as they went but Flynn didn't notice. He stopped to scratch his nose then suddenly realized they were finally topside. Flynn closed his eyes and tried to rub some of the grit out. The area had once been full of vehicles, equipment shacks, miner dorms – a town. Now there was nothing but black snow drifting, howling dervish winds, mounds of grey ash. The ground appeared as if it had been all raked toward what had once been the centre of the colony. Every cough was a punch in the lungs, the air too thick with ash, dust and the remains of the colony to bother even trying to get a decent breath any longer. He was unbelievably tired, body aching in every way he could conceive. Just a few metres from him, a stack of pallets remained and he dropped Duke on the top, sat heavily on the ground next to them. His legs weighed a few tons and were happy to just feel ground underneath them.

"I think," Flynn told the black snow as it drifted past, "I've gone as far as I can go."

Dying here is not an option.

"Fine. You carry me fer a while."

Silence.

"Yeah, thought so." Flynn sighed, cursed an old Irish curse under his breath. "Jus' restin', is all. No plans on dyin' today. Didn't walk all that way fer nuthin'."

Do you think she ever actually cared?

Flynn started, then just went with it, too tired to care.

"If she had, she would nae ha' marooned me there, and ran back to him. I tol' her it were no life fer her. She could'a been anythin'." He laughed a small deprecating chuckle. "Shows ye what I know."

Over the wind, Flynn thought he heard a voice, but it seemed far away, and for a moment he wondered if he was even actually conscious – until he heard it again, just above his head.

"Dulla… han…" Duke – awake for real this time. Flynn reached up, tapped the side of the pallets, too weary for anything else.

"Aye. Noice to see ye awake, brother."

"That feels …temporary. Did we …win?" Flynn took in the devastation around him, looked down at his ashen self. Winning, as always, was just a matter of perspective.

"Aye. More or less."

"Good… this …reminds me of…"

"One last time, Duke. Not Torfan."

In the distance, the smoke thinned, and he could see a winking stack of lights, had to blink a few times to make sure. The lights remained. He suddenly realized what they were attached to and smiled broadly.

"Sunuvabitch." He painfully climbed to his feet, then checked on Duke. His eyes fluttered, and Flynn peeled one open. Good. Still in there. No dying today, no dropping just short of the finish line.

Left foot, right foot, one-two. Behind him, that roaring rumble began deep in the mine again and started to grow. This time it didn't die off. On the other side of the pit, great chunks of the walls of the thing were collapsing in on themselves, huge sinkholes opening behind that.

That… was very bad.

Flynn found new strength as he picked Duke back up and moved determinedly toward those beacons. The mining ship port was cut into a cliff-face, and it still had power. With any kind of fortune at all, his ship was still in one piece. Ahead, a huge wedge of rock broke off from that cliff and roared down, crashing hard and bouncing away, crushing anything beneath it.

So far, for he and Duke, so good. Not long now, not far to go. The rumble under his feet was growing in intensity. Flynn swore he could hear it coming at him.

Flynn crested a rise, and finally got an overview of what was left of New Chamberlain, amazed at the sheer thoroughness of the destruction. Most buildings still standing had been crushed inward, as if squeezed by some giant hand. They looked as fragile as sand. Even as he gazed over the smashed colony, a gust of groaning wind swirled across an office building and it simply blew away. All other structures had been smashed to their foundations and then the debris dragged to the centre of the blast zone in a huge artificial mountain. He doubted anyone survived that weapon, and then immediately wondered just what kind of weapon could do this. He had the feeling Duke and he only survived because they'd fallen so deep into the mining pit. A glance up showed streaks in the sky, daylight poking through as the cloud mass began to dissipate. What could only be ship running lights became visible blinking through the remaining haze. The mound at the centre of the former colony started to shake as the rumble caught it. The ship lights turned to beacons, began playing over the blasted ground.

Shall we hope those are Alliance ships? More batarians would be bad.

He agreed. More anyone not Alliance would be bad. On Torfan, it had turned out that the Hegemony had sent an entire division to secure Torfan, plus three hundred Hjak'rakar killers. They allowed the Alliance brigade to get in and then locked the system down. Five thousand humans against fifteen thousand batarians. One squad of N7's against a battalion of some of the Hegemony's most highly-trained and efficient killers. Bastards didn't stand a chance, but they made the humans pay for every metre.

"Too far out fer Alliance, Duke. Yer obsessin'."

Are you certain you didn't hit your head?

"I'm more worried about our arses at the moment." Flynn saw the hanger doors closed and exulted again. Unless something else inexplicable had occurred, they were only a few steps off this cauldron. A few moments more and they were through the door of the customs office and into the hanger itself. Despite what he'd told Duke, Flynn knew he was reaching his limits. Had they not taken that mad plunge into the mine, he'd have shrugged most of this off. The pain in his head threatened to knock him cold with every jarring step, and every bone, muscle and sinew hated his guts.

Flynn stopped, then cursed luridly. The pain in his head started a staccato drubbing on his brain that threatened to knock him out.

Half the hanger had been crushed in a collapse.