Local Cluster
Earth, Citadel

"You're supposed to drink it, not make whirlpools out of it."

Ignoring the remark, Westir continued to stir the tea in his glass. His right leg jiggled minutely beneath the table as he stared at the large vid screen on the wall opposite him. The newscaster's voice was barely audible over the hum in the large canteen. The visuals that slide by provided some clues on the news content that was all too familiar. Trouble somewhere. Probably a riot or maybe a protest, judging from the fists, limbs shaken and waving hands over the heads of crowds. Large flashing holobanners floated behind. He could venture a guess on what it was all about. Frankly he was tired of hearing about the TI. Perhaps he wouldn't have such a reaction were he living in a place where the threat hovered large and near but he wasn't and he didn't want to hear about them everyday at every hour.

The patter of sharp clicks drew his attention to Malon who peered at the screen of his portable console. "Portal block," he sighed. "The numbers must be overwhelming if I'm shunted to the hold." His hand snaked to a bowl of tiny raisin-like fruit near his elbow and popped a few into his mouth.

"News fly fast," Tessie muttered, busy over her own console. "There's a ton of complaints about service offices closing down suddenly. From transportation ticket sales to restaurant reservations. Something big is coming up." She looked over to Malon. "Ferret out what hot potato the Conclave's gonna throw out yet?"

Malon looked about them. Westir smirked at his suspicion that anyone would bother to try to eavesdrop over the rumble of conversation. The salarian bent close to whisper, "I heard there's some development at Sur'Kesh."

"Hot damn." Eyes round, Tessie stared at him. "How solid is it?"

Malon nodded to the glass of tea before West. "Probability is as good as West pouring that tea down the drain."

"Huh," Tessie snorted. "Fresh meat for the rabble-rousers if true. They're going to think it's all due to them ten years down the road."

Noting the pained expression on Challa's face, Westir asked curiously, "Why are you looking so glum? If it's true, doesn't that mean your people would have a fighting chance of reclaiming your homeworld?"

"Supervisor Melik is going to call a general meeting after the Conclave session."

Three pair of eyes stared at Challa in astonishment.

"That doesn't sound good."

Westir didn't doubt Challa, his information sources was always good. His dismal air when they sat down to dinner was now explained. If there was going to be a general meeting, clearly, the Conclave Session of Question had nothing to do with the TI problem. Really bad news for those batarians hoping to reclaim Khar'Shan. With the elite destroyed or turned into TI, the surviving remnants were the middle, the lowest class and the poor who hardly knew how to fend for themselves without their overlords.

In desperation and hope, they petitioned the Council for a new homeworld. It was granted and called Shai'Khan. In the last four years, the survivors slowly established their foothold. A dangerous and difficult task on a strange new world but he heard they were making good progress.

"Anyone want to bet they're flipping Keeper pancakes?" he asked.

"Over their going EVA?" Malon popped in more fruit and chewed thoughtfully.

"That and the reactor core shut down. It has to be them."

"You think they're going to do something about the bugs?" Tessie scoffed. "I'll quit this job if that really happens, not that it would really happen." She tapped the table impatiently when they stared at her. "Think about it. Pitchfork the bugs and who's left holding the bag? Do you think we can do it? We're sweepers, greasers, not the actual operators. There're so few of us. We're going to be so shorthanded that double shifts are going to sound like holidays. This place will go turtle inside a month."

Westir shrugged. "Not if they offer a quad jump in pay."

"It's not going to make any difference when you have a potbelly to lug about."

"Shut up Tess," Westir returned irritably. "What I do off the job has nothing to do with you so quit trying my reins."

"If the debate is about the Keepers, it will be short," Malon interjected quickly before Tessie could answer. "The Question is simplistic since nothing can be done about them. Not even the Volus ambassador can pick a financial quirk in it."

A disgusted snort of disbelief escaped Tessie. She turned in surprise when a loud chime rang out several times across the canteen. All conversations stilled as eyes turned to the large vid screen. It went dark for a moment before the solemn jungle green face of Melik appeared.

"This is Supervisor Melik. Conclave Session has concluded with unanimous vote on the Question. The following actions will be carried out. All engineering and technical personnel are to actively ensure the safety and integrity of the Citadel. The closure of all wards will be implemented in the next fifty days. All leaves are cancelled until further notice. All team leaders are to report to division chiefs after this announcement. Melik out."

Shocked and befuddled silence filled the canteen for several seconds. A fork dropped to the floor when someone pushed back his chair. The silvery tinkle as it bounced was extraordinarily loud. As if it was a signal, a hubbub of voices broke out at once. Questions and speculations flew fast and furious across every table. No one paid any heed to the vid when the official Conclave Representative appeared. The roar of hot exchanges drowned out her words.

"...did he say fifty days?!..."

"...that's impossible, there're millions of people on station, are fifty days even..."

"...close the wards? What did he mean close the wards?!..."

"...what're they going to do with the station?!..."

"...I bought tickets home, what am I..."

"...mark my words, they're going to break it up..."

"...that is sooo stupid, you know what you're saying?..."

Their table was an island of silence in the churning sea of cogitation. Westir took a deep draught from his glass without realising what he drank. Distracted and busy assimilating the astonishing broadcast, the others made no comment. A sudden clangor thundered out. Once again, voices were still and all eyes in the canteen were drawn to one spot. The red-faced man in coveralls on top of the food counter passed the huge metal platter and long scoop he was holding to someone behind him.

"Listen to the broadcast!" he shouted, waving at the vid screen. As one, all attention turned as directed.

"...all residents are ordered to evacuate the Citadel. Please report to your respective embassies for transportation arrangements. All constitutional, commercial and financial proceedings on the Citadel are suspended until the mandate has been carried out. Thank you."

The image of the Conclave Representative was replaced by columns of streaming information. Everyone looked at one another in disbelief. Conversations broke out again but in subdued tones.

"They're serious." Tessie licked dry lips and grabbed her glass of water, eyes wide over the rim as she gulped.

"Closing down everything, taking off everyone.." Malon slowly closed the cover over his console. "They're going to move the Citadel," he said in hush amazement.

"That's impossible," Westir muttered distractedly. "No one knows how the Reapers did it, not even the ones who were onboard and they were too busy fighting for their own survival. That's why the station's sitting in Sol for five years and will continue to sit here until someone figures it out..," he stopped abruptly when he realised what he said.

"Uh huh, looks like someone has figured it out." Tessie rolled her glass between her hands nervously.

"Or not?" Malon drummed his fingers on the table. "My supposition may be wrong. Does anyone think it's strange?" he said abruptly. "Why fifty days? Does it sound like they're rushing? Trying to stay to schedule?"

Tessie saw his point. "You're right. Why not three months or half a year?"

Westir shoved his glass aside. "Whose schedule? The Keepers?"

"Yeah right, the Keepers," Tessie scoffed. "Might as well said it's the...," she lowered her voice to a deep monotone, "voices from beyond. The dead of ages ..returning...to haunt the living with their whispers of prophecy."

"I'll take leaps of fantasy over ghoulish whimsy," Westir said. "How about the Rachni are behind this whole thing?"

"Come on, West. You're still hooked on those reports about Rachni helping out in the war?"

"They helped in the war," he insisted stubbornly. "I know they did. Where did they go when the war was over? Why isn't there an embassy of theirs on the Citadel?"

"Pffft...would the Council let in more bugs on the station?"

"You're supposed to report to Drake," Challa interjected before the exchange could turn into one of the duo's discourses that went nowhere, looking at Westir who grimaced.

"Fifty days.," he muttered as he pushed himself to his feet. "Somehow, I don't think we'll going to have a chance to hug our pillows too often," he said gloomily before making his way out of the canteen.

SSV Glasgow

"...the marines are to coordinate with Citadel Security and clear out Tishaeri Ward." Dorrin looked at the officers seated around the table in the briefing room. "By now, all commercial and financial services have closed down. No one," he looked at Major Stephos, "is to linger at any of those locales. No excuses. If anyone refuses to leave, remove by force if necessary."

Stephos nodded. "Tishaeri Ward is not exactly run-of-the-mill precinct. According to C-Sec, it's a difficult enclave to manage because of the criminal elements that have taken root. Extrinsic vices, drugs, smuggling, you name it, it's there."

"And?" Dorrin prodded patiently.

"Well, sir, it doesn't make sense that our marines are restricted to small arms," Stephos said gruffly, managing to keep his tone even despite the discontent he was feeling. "Some of those hardheads would rather believe the authorities are trying to clean out their dens than the station shutting down. It could get ugly."

Dorrin understood his concerns. Despite the arms restriction on the Citadel, criminal elements would always find a way to circumvent the check.

"It may have been an oversight, I'll raise this concern with Citadel authorities." He made a notation on his datapad. "Until it's clarified or amended, have the marines keep a light hand if they suspect crooked riffraff." He turned to a balding man with a thick horseshoe moustache. "Commander Rantos."

"We have come up with a schedule and crew roster to keep the shuttles running though I've to stress that the consecutive cycles may result in rapid hardware degeneracy." Rantos's unhappiness was clearly defined in the hard bite at the end.

"Yes. I've read your memo regarding this concern and given my stamp of approval on the recommended acquisition manifest to LC (Logistics Command) but we'll have to make do with spit wads if we have to," Dorrin said patiently.

Rantos tend to be a vocal pain in the ass when it came to his precious domain, from the engines to every piece of hardware in the shuttle fleet. A vast difference from the previous FCC (flight crew chief) who died when the Glasgow took hull damage from a Reaper onslaught that decimated most of Eighth Fleet. The man was married to his job and made sure everything was top flight. Dorrin recognized and appreciated it so he tolerated every grouse from Rantos because he delivered.

Dorrin swept a glance across the table when Rantos kept his peace. The rest of the officers looked pensive. His gaze lit on the sandy-haired man turning the datapad in his hands. "Surgeon Commander Hyanes."

Hyanes gave a little start and straightened in his chair.

"We have established operational procedures with CMD (Citadel Medical Division). Supplies and additional personnel will be on hand so we're prepped and ready to go, sir," he said easily. "Though I've say the problems we may have to contend with are likely to be the usual run of neurotic maladies."

Dorrin didn't much care for his light dismissal. Moving millions of people was hairy business that could turn into disaster if not handled properly. Especially if someone took it into his head to create trouble. He wasn't going to pick Hyanes for his attitude since CMD were the ones in charge. If Hyanes dropped the ball, it was going to show up in his jacket. He moved on to the next topic.

"Given that the evacuation window is high profile, there are concerns hostile elements may take this opportunity to launch an assault to achieve the maximum damage to Council authority and military efficiency across the board." He felt the wave of surprise around the table before it subsided to thoughtful rumination. "Our operational status for this duration is C2. Diamondback and Zeta Squadrons will patrol their designated zones and coordinate with CDN (Citadel Defense Net)." He waited for commander Fokker to throw out any hitches he might have with the plan but the CAG only nodded. Not surprising since he probably had the easier job.

"If there are no further issues." Dorrin glanced around the table but no one said anything. "This conference is concluded."

Senior officers were always the first to enter or exit a room or vehicle so the other officers stood and waited for him to proceed to the hatch of the briefing room. Outside, he was surprised to see Sergeant Harris standing sentry with the Marine MP. Security was usually the marine MPs domain so there wasn't any reason for Harris to be there. Something in the man's gaze gave him pause. He lifted his chin in a tiny gesture to his COS (chief of staff) who took the hint and waved the rest of the officers through. There were curious glances but none ventured to speak though a frown creased Stephos's brows. Dorrin waited until they had disappeared round the corner of the corridor.

"You have something for me, Harris?" he asked.

Harris braced to attention. "Permission to speak privately, sir. Off the record."

Dorrin nodded to the stony-faced marine MP. "You're dismissed." The marine threw a crisp salute and strode away briskly. Another nod to his COS who withdrew farther down the corridor. "Shouldn't the matter be taken up with Major Stephos?" he said once the marine was gone.

"I did, sir. He said I've nothing to worry about but I thought I'll try to get it straight from the top."

"You need a second opinion when you have an extremely qualified diagnosis?"

A faint flush reddened Harris's face at the reprimand. "I'm..I want to be sure, sir," he said evenly. "Sir, I'm looking to transfer dirtside once the TI problem is licked. To be closer to my family, sir. I know how things can come around eventually to break the bough. I'm not looking for that kind of trouble."

"Your family?"

"Wife and a daughter, sir. They survived the Reaper invasion, the war...they had a difficult time...I don't want to give them any more grief in the coming days."

Lucky bastard. "I presume you're worried over a subsequent diplomatic fallout from Dr Olor's suicide?" Dorrin said aloud.

"Yes, sir. In hindsight, I should have realised something was wrong."

Dorrin's eyebrows shot up. "How?"

"Dr Olor had a strange way of talking, sir. His syntax was always disjointed but on that day, he was speaking...," Harris searched for a suitable word. "Normally," he finished uncomfortably. "He was also clearly very upset by the emails he received. I should have responded more appropriately to his distress."

"I see." Dorrin recalled the brief exchanges he had with Dr Olor and realised Harris had a point. The salarian did indeed have a strange way of talking. "The Salarian Union sent word they considered the matter closed and do not hold the Systems Alliance at fault for the good doctor's suicide. That is official and straight from Admiral Hackett, sergeant. It is unlikely they would want to dig up the act of dishonor committed on Ilos or bring up this issue in future dialogues."

Harris visibly relaxed. "Thank you, sir, for taking the time to clarify the matter."

"You're going to catch some flak from Major Stephos for this."

"I'm aware of that but it's worth it, sir."

"Dismissed."

Harris saluted, pivoted neatly and marched away. Watching him go, Dorrin wished him luck. If they succeeded in the complete retaking of their homeworld and bringing down whatever remained of Cerberus, he too, would like to be as fortunate as Harris in the family way.

Rosetta Nebula
Alpha Draconis, Aeia

The planet was blue white green. The colours elicited no excitement despite the semblance to Earth. For some who often traversed the dark expanse, the sight of it raised a pining for home. To a few, it was another planet of scientific interest. To others who had the hunt on their agenda, their interest held only as long as it took to search for their prey. Their attention to the scan readings on the planet was patient, diligent and thorough. When that raised no scent, they turned to the two moons. Lifeless rocks they may be but there could be tracks to find.

The planetary system was one of several in the trail. A relentless pursuit that threatened to culminate in failure and frustration. Hopes began to rise when positive signs from one of the moons began to emerge. Calls were made. The hunters settled down to wait, watching and planning carefully. Drones were launched. Humming and chattering quietly, they dropped to the surface of the moon. Gliding smoothly over craggy surfaces, the drones noted down the tiniest features organic eyes could not have seen and sent every data back to their masters.

Eventually, three Alliance frigates arrived and parked themselves in orbit. The hunters conferred. Two frigates descended to the moon. Torpedoes were launched, striking at hidden turret embedments along the upper line of the ridge from where the signals were detected. The frigates made another pass, swiftly demolishing any turrets that escaped destruction before hovering near the base of the ridge, disgorging two Makos and squads of marines before returning to orbit.

Advancing at careful speed in one of the Makos, Captain Coglin hooked onto the transponder beacon signal and headed in that direction. Keeping the body of the Makos between them and the ridge, the marines easily kept pace in their modified hardsuits. The signal became stronger when they approached the stretch of craggy cliff wall. Halting the Mako when the signal became a steady continuous tune, Coglin waited while one of the techs ran a spectrum scan. The signal was coming from below the ground but there had to be a ground level entry. There was nothing to indicate the cliff face was hiding something but the scans told a different story.

"There's an expanse behind that cliff wall directly ahead, sir," the tech said. "I'm getting a power core reading underground, very faint. Also picking up resonant and circuitry readings at fifty metres."

"Extent of entry?"

"Sixty wide by thirty, three metres reinforced plasteel barricade plus two depth behind the wall."

"Alpha and Baker breakers, doorway is sixty by thirty. Density of barrier is three by two," Coglin murmured into the comm after sending the scan to the engineers.

She waited as the marine engineers carefully defined the perimeter of the entrance, the depth of the wall and planted their charges. What would they find once they gained access? A company of Cerberus troopers? Mechs? Traps? She tried not to drum her fingers on the console. The longer it took to break in, the more time their enemy would have to get their defenses in place. She looked over to the tech.

"Any comm chatter?"

"Nothing, sir. No significant heat signatures registered."

Her comm crackled. The marine engineers reported they were ready to blow the charges. The marines withdrew a distance behind the Makos. Once they were clear, the charges were blown. Outside, there was no sound when the cliff face shattered into thousands of pieces. Rock, dust and grit blossomed into heavy clouds, bringing down visibility. Coglin stared into the targeting scope of the cannon. A delighted grin lit her face.

"Good job breakers, we got ourselves a rabbit hole."

With the clouds and debris slowly settling, she toggled the scope to get a better look of the interior.

"EP (entry point) is clear. One dropper (lift) at the back. Alpha, see if there's any tappers (stairs) or greasers (maintenance access ladder). Baker, secure the area and dropper. Lieutenant Clinkes, you're on Bulldogs (Makos)."

As the officers affirmed the orders, she gestured at the tech, pointing at her eyes and ears. The tech nodded; her meaning was clear. She gave him a clap on his shoulder before she popped the hatch of the Mako and climbed out. The second moon hung huge and silvery in the sky but she paid it no attention. She bounced lightly over to the gaping entrance. Several marines were clearing away the debris, raising clouds of fine dust. Both Alpha and Baker squad leaders were waiting for her by the lift at the back of an empty chamber.

"Sir, there's a greaser. No tapper," sergeant Chen reported.

"Dropper is operative, sir. We took out the eyes. No sign of any catch," sergeant Arno said.

"How far down is the greaser?" Coglin asked.

"Dropper goes down ten levels, the greaser could go farther," Chen said.

"Baker1, take your team down the greaser. Find out where it ends. We'll give you a five minute head start," Coglin ordered. Chen saluted and waved to his squad. "I'll take a Alpha50 and go down the dropper," she said to Arno as Chen's squad sorted themselves out and began to rappel down the maintenance shaft.

She left him to split the squad up and went back to the entrance to take a look of the defense deployment. Clinkes had positioned a Mako and a squad up on the cliff. The other Mako was covering the entrance. She couldn't find any fault with the setup and sent an update to the orbiting frigates. When she returned, Arno had assembled the marines who would descend to the lower levels with her.

"Alpha1 to Baker, status?"

"Baker1. We've cleared six levels and have a view of the bottom."

Good news to her. It meant neither team would be too far apart. "Alpha1 copy. We're proceeding as planned."

"Baker1 copy."

The lift was huge. So huge that Coglin and the marines with her barely took up one tenth of the space. It was likely used to shift cargo. Two marines took positions on either side of the lift doors. Coglin simply waited with the rest facing the doors, crouched and ready for any ambush. Nothing but a blank white wall was waiting for them when the lift reached the tenth level. One of the marines at the doors checked the area through the bendy scope of his rifle.

"Corridor looks clear, sir. No spy eyes. There's a doorway thirty feet away."

"Alpha1 to Baker1, we've touched base." Coglin sent their position to Chen and moved out into the corridor. She could see the doorway the marine reported.

"Baker1. We're a few minutes away. Greaser is on equal footing with the dropper."

Even better. "Alpha1 copy. We're proceeding forward to take a look at a portal." She highlighted the doorway on the map and began to head towards it.

The transponder beacon signals were strong, directly ahead of her. Since there were three, there had to be a docking chamber of some sort further down. There was nothing showing up in the smooth corridor but Coglin didn't think it would stay that way soon. If there were personnel in the base, they could expect a barrage setup near the end of the corridor. They had something to deal with that though. Something the enemy wouldn't expect. A grim smile lit up Coglin's face at the prospect. But first, the room.

The door panel did not respond to her touch. Locked of course. The marine tech went to work at once. The hatch snapped aside. Nothing leaped out at them. The dimly lit room was an office. Work consoles were dark, the desks were empty except for a few dead datapads. Several hardcopies were lined neatly on a shelf in the far corner. Coglin looked around the room. No spy eyes. Odd. She noted there was no dust on the furniture. Everything was spick and span. Clearly, this was not an abandoned facility. The hardcopies were the only items that stood out in the room.

She picked one up. It was thick and heavy with a black hardcover. She opened and flipped through it. To her surprise, it turned out to be a printed chronicle of a xtranet blog by someone named Sirenic. A tacky exposition full of sexual escapades from the looks of it. Why was it in a Cerberus office? Frowning, she checked the date on the first page. Nov 14 2173 CE. Seventeen years ago. She picked up another one. It was the same except that the first date was ten years later. A check on the third file showed a more recent entry. Who would want to collect and read such trash? She frowned. Perhaps it wasn't trash.

As she stood there contemplating the hardcopies, the tech sat down at one of the consoles and turned it on. "System is encrypted," he said.

"How long is it going to take to break and siphon?"

"About fifteen minutes." His omni-tool flashed as he bent over the console.

She examined the room once more and nodded. She would leave a few marines to guard him while he worked. "Alpha1 to Baker1, position?"

"Baker1, we're five ticks along."

"Alpha Gumshoe is feeling the bore. He can use some company."

"We have some friends he'd like," Chen said.

"Alpha Gumshoe appreciates it." Coglin returned the marine tech's thumb up. "Alpha is packing."

"Baker copy. We'll be there."

She stepped out of the room to see the lead scout from Baker approaching her position, the rest was not far behind. She could safely proceed. First, she had to send someone else ahead. The corridor was too open for the enemy not to detect them. She detached three geth probes clinging to her weapons mount and sent them ahead. If they thought they could blast those probes easily, they would get a surprise. The probes were not the usual recon probes the Alliance had been using. They were assault probes built with heavier armour and shielding to withstand weapons fire. They were also highly maneuverable. Their primary objective was to seek and lodge themselves in the midst of an enemy group and detonate. The results would not be pretty.

The probes zipped forward at a furious pace. With the rest of her squad, Coglin followed. The live feed from the probes corrected Coglin's assumption that the corridor turned a corner. It was an intersection. To her relief, nothing was waiting for them. Both corridors were short with hatches at either end. She halted the probes at the intersection and returned them to the weapons mount on her back when they reached the fork.

Coglin waited for Baker squad to reach them and sent them to the right branch of the corridor. She took the left with her squad. The large hatch was not locked and slide aside easily. Nothing was waiting for them on the walkway outside. An itchy twitch started down Coglin's back. She didn't like the feeling one bit. The transponder beacon signal sang loudly. She didn't need to hear them to know they had found the freighters.

Beyond the walkway was a cavernous hollowed out cavern. The three Athabasca freighters they were tracking were sitting on huge rail tracks that stretched far into a passage that curved upwards. How far it went, Coglin had no idea but it made sense that the entry and exit point for the freighters would be close to the surface. To cut and build an ingress directly above was not impossible however. She looked at the ceiling. If there was an entrance up there, the surface wouldn't look so craggy and uneven. She brought up her visor far viewer and saw there was stacks of crates lined along the walls of the cavern.

Descending from the walkway down to the ground, she saw that they were close to the second freighter. "Alpha1 to Baker1, position?"

"Baker1. We're eyeballing a wagon and a row of cargo lifters. No live peeps," Chen said.

"Search the wagon. We'll be hunting ours in the middle."

"Baker1 copy."

Athabasca freighters were multi-level with the lower deck cargo compartment hatches on either side of the hull so Coglin headed down the length of the ship. The rest of the squad following behind watchfully maintained a defensive perimeter. The name MSV Kaiwo Maru was emblazoned boldly on the grey hull. From the large repair patchwork on the hull, it was a ship that was heavily damaged at some point. Perhaps, like the turian dreadnought, it was a salvaged wreck.

The cargo compartment hatch responded readily to Coglin's touch at the control panel. The huge door lifted slowly, revealing a cargo hold filled with crates. So much supplies. Of what sort? It was packed so densely the only way through were the narrow passages between the stacks. She gestured to one of the squad to post himself by the entrance and for the rest to spread out. She picked the closest aisle and examined the crates. They were worn and scuffed with long use. Nothing odd about that but the numbers and letters on them were alien script. Some of them she recognised as salarian and asari. She knocked on one. It thudded dully. With no lifting machinery on hand, there was no way they could bring down or open any of the crates.

They gathered at the other end of the aisles and ascended a narrow flight of stairs. The second level was fully loaded as well though the crates were much smaller. Perhaps the ones below contained hardware and tools. There was enough on the freighter to establish a small colony and feed several hundred people. Were they hoarding? Planning to release it on the galactic market to make a splash so they could use the credits for other purposes? Coglin didn't think so. They went up to the top level.

The crew quarters was as empty of personnel as the office. The antithesis of the tidy office, piles of unwashed crockery ridged the galley counter. Dirty clothing were thrown everywhere. Loud lewd posters glared from the bulkheads. A Screw you BUGS! scribbling was sprayed painted on the ceiling with an equally vulgar drawing. Coglin was glad they couldn't smell the stink that must be soaking the air. Kicking aside a high mound of obstructive debris in the passageway, she headed to the bridge. Her comm beeped.

"Baker1 to Alpha1. The wagon is loaded with crates. Unable to determine contents...hold," Chen broke off suddenly. Coglin tensed when a muffled boom came through Chen's pickups. "Ramparts approaching our position!" he said.

"Fall back to EP (entry point)." She signalled to the squad who began to head back down the stairs.

"Negative, there are too many of them. Baker squad, fall back to the upper levels," Chen ordered.

As she was about to go back down the stairs, the marine she posted at the cargo entrance commed in. "Alpha6 to Alpha1, hostiles sighted. I repeat, hostile Ramparts massing on our position."

"How many?"

"Looks like a whole damn battalion!"

"Alpha6, seal the hatch!" she ordered. "Alpha1 to Alpha Gumshoe, extract!" She hoped the marines at the office would get the warning and get out. "Alpha1 to Alpha Gumshoe." There was no reply. She tried to reach command. "Alpha1 to Verdun." She muttered a silent curse when there was no reply. Evidently, signals were jammed.

"Alpha6 to Alpha1, I can't get the hatch to close."

"Pull back to second level. We'll bottle them at the stairs."

The marines with her scurried to take up positions as the marine sentry pounded up to the second level. She could hear the metallic treads of the mechs as they began to march in.

Great. How do we get out of this mess?