11 – Mavigon

The Bluntnose's less than aerodynamic front was felt immediately. Air drag shook the truck and its passengers enough to threaten their straps loose. Its driver's fearful eyes were desperately darting around his window screens for any indication as to where he was…or how high he was. Letters and numbers flashed on his dashboard. NH3. CH4. Not a great time to see the registration plate, he briefly mused. With all the grace of a concrete slab thrown out of a window, the Bluntnose cut through the clouds, until…

Suddenly land was not only visible – it was all Gorman could see. He tried to recall if there were any parachutes, plummeting towards the ground like he was made his memory tick just that bit faster. No parachutes, he correctly asserted. One option down, and therefore all options exhausted, except for White's last command.

He had assumed the lever to be a handbrake. It was absolutely worth a shot. He pulled. The jarring motion of the Bluntnose's underbody jets coming to life could be felt through every limb he had. The terminal speed at which he was approaching a fiery end gradually screeched slower, and the blunt nose of the vehicle banked upward to compensate, giving Gorman a view of white peaks and caps as far as the eye could see. The g-forces were in full effect, and keeping himself awake was now an immediate priority. Just a bit further, and the Bluntnose smacked the ground. The tires compressed and expanded, bouncing it down a hill. The truck rolled along, shaking side to side, and eventually came to a stop. Gorman couldn't help but stop too. He was frozen in his seat, one hand on the wheel and another on the brake, unwilling to let go. His ears were ringing, mind spinning.

"All good, Commander?" came a voice from behind, only slightly muffled behind a helmet. Gorman let out the enormous breath he had been holding in all this time. He took his shaking hands off the driving instruments and turned around in his seat. Two sets of worried eyes greeted him. "You're really pale," Zaz stated.

"Not much paler than usual," Kalu lightened the mood, giving Gorman a hit on the shoulder. "Take a moment, and I'll guide you to the base." He whipped out his left arm, and up flashed the familiar glowing orange interface. Zaz leaned in as Kalu sped through virtual menu after virtual menu to find something resembling a compass. With the coordinates from earlier, he was ready to go – but Gorman was not.

Another deep breath. Mere seconds ago the Commander was staring at the face of an icy death. The ironic gravity of his situation hit him instead.

What the hell was he doing here?

He was sitting in a metal monstrosity, caged in from an unearthly frigid rock, trillions of miles from home. There was nothing but dark snow to see and whistling wind to hear. A chill ran down his spine, and not just from the creeping cold. There were certain comforts in his past destinations – a space station, a space ship, a pretty albeit burning garden planet – that being evidence that something or someone has been there. Man-made (or alien-made) structures, housing, screens, farms, anything. Here, however? The desolate wasteland known as Mavigon? There was nothing. Simply nothing. There was a very good chance that no living being has ever been exactly where the Commander was, and it was quite a strange feeling. He wondered if his passengers felt the same way, but they were seemingly treating this like a business trip.

"Are…we going to move?" Kalu sighed.

"Sorry, sorry, just thinking," Gorman stammered back to this new, unfamiliar reality.

"There's a compass on your dash. As I said, we're heading due west, bearing 272."

Gorman scanned the toolkit of controls in front of him, locating a radar that bore digits around its circumference. He twisted the steering wheel, put his foot down on the pedal, and the Bluntnose's engine started to purr.

Almost instantly the journey struck a problem. What appeared from Gorman's digital windscreen to be faraway snowcapped hills, was actually just the terrain of the area in front of them in general. It was unbelievably bumpy. The Bluntnose dived down a bank and was met with an equally steep incline to the next peak – several times over. Kalu's pseudo-GPS didn't give any indication as to whether just to the left or right of them was a nice flat patch of land that they could just zip along. Instead, they were subject to a rollercoaster with a steering wheel. If the threat of a concussion wasn't enough from all the bounding around, Gorman's nausea was making him pray for prairies.

"Stop. Stop!" finally burst Zaz. "I'm gonna throw up." They had reached the summit of yet another frozen hill. Visibility was still so poor that Gorman had to take off his shades. The wind was still howling. A chill inside was palpable, whatever heating system the truck had was working overtime. "No, wait, hold on…I'm okay, I'm okay."

"Deep breaths, Zaz," instructed Kalu, performing some of his own.

Gorman basked in what view he had. A bit of static wormed its way into his earpiece.

"Lieutenant? White, are you there?"

A dull buzz was all he would hear, straining his focus to try and pick out anything like a sentence, or even a word.

"Why do you keep calling him that?" Kalu had to ask.

"Sure he's retired, but it's still respectful to use his rank," Gorman replied. Kalu was about to interject, but the Commander continued ahead. "How much farther to the base?"

"…Still a distance to go."

Gorman put his foot down again – this time, all the way. To his surprise the engine flared up and the Bluntnose accelerated at incredible pace. He had activated the rear boosters. There was no time to brake ahead of a hill's abrupt end fast approaching. The Bluntnose flew off the cliff face, arcing over the jagged snowy crags. This was certainly one way to find out that Mavigon's gravity isn't the strongest. Thanks to the snow, it smashed into another rise in the land like it was impacting a pillow. The crew broke into cries of nerve-wracked laughter. Save that 'feature' for emergencies, Gorman thought, lifting the pedal to a reasonable pace.

Luckily the blizzard conditions had lifted somewhat in this new area. Still cold, still snowy, still windy, but Gorman could see more than the next few seconds ahead of him out the window.

"Over there!" Kalu's metal mitt was pointing over the Commander's shoulder. "Turrets!"

Out of all the white hilltops, there was one dead ahead that was particularly flat. Flat enough to make out grey pillars rising up from the surface. The icy desolation of this untouched rock had been shattered. The confirmed thought that they weren't alone out here made Gorman shudder again. Chances were, that between them in the Bluntnose and those in the alleged base, they were the only souls on this planet. Judging from their 'orders', perhaps there would be fewer by the time they were ready to leave.

The pillars themselves were barely discernable at this distance, but as the Bluntnose pushed closer, Gorman noticed they were comprised of wide bases and an eyeball-shaped spherical 'heads'. The heads were pointing in various directions, letting him see barrels sticking out from the pupils. They were too large to possibly fire bullets, which meant one other option…from a twenty-first century perspective, of course. Missiles.

The truck started its ascent up the hill. Gorman peeked behind him for but a moment to see his passengers transfixed on the view ahead just as much as he was. The turrets seemed to be positioned in a ring around something right at the very center. If it wasn't the criminal hideout, what could it be?

Kalu swore. Gorman peered at the turrets to see them gradually start to turn. Not in any random direction – but angling down towards the Bluntnose. The Commander saw no need for hesitation as he plowed forward. His foot twitched. If things got dire the boosters were always there. The climb continued. The turrets were now fully focused on them, staring at them like a frozen auditorium, but where there was no smoke, there was no firing.

"Why aren't they shooting us?" questioned Zaz.

"Let's not give them a reason to," reasoned Gorman.

The Bluntnose crested the hill, arriving at its wide, relatively flat top. The turrets were slow to latch onto their new position, giving the indication that somebody, somewhere was controlling them. Inside the base that now lay before them was a safe bet for where.

The structure was undoubtably not a natural formation, instead a metallic squished dome, with harsh edges, bolted panels and icicles hanging everywhere. It wasn't too much taller than the Bluntnose itself, curiously. On its top was another, smaller dome coupled with an antenna that Gorman thought was a mere trick of the light from farther away. It had side compartments at the quarter-hour marks. The one to the left of them an obvious entryway, the ones to the side more intriguing. To their right were a series of heavy-duty pipes, stretching from the complex proper before making a sharp turn into the ground. Low metal extensions connected the base to its turrets, but also around the area were emplacements that looked like something ripped straight from Omaha Beach. A small comfort to know that even in the far future, the 'Czech hedgehogs' would find a home.

Otherwise, there was not a sign of life. Only the unrelenting gaze of the turrets and an antenna with a dim glow coming from it.

Now walking distance away, Gorman drove up within visual range of the doorway and pulled the lever. The Bluntnose shot skyward for a second before he realized it was still not a handbrake and let go. They eventually bounced to a complete stop just short of a hedgehog.

The Commander twisted around to face his passengers. They looked as eager to get going as they did nauseated from the journey to get here.

"Alright, let's go over the plan."

"We have a plan?" Kalu asked. No malice in his voice, just pleasant surprise.

"They haven't fired on us, which means they're willing to talk," Gorman theorized. "Let's be clear – just talking to whoever's in there is probably more than Captain Chen was expecting of us."

"What are we going to be 'talking' about?" Kalu enquired.

"Damned if I know," Gorman gave an anxious chuckle. "Chen and the Admiral seemed convinced that there's a criminal syndicate holed up in here. Ask them about their finances, the weather, local sports teams."

"What?" Zaz's exclaimed confusion was rivaled in size by the frozen cloud that came from her mouth.

"We're not really here to talk," Gorman clarified. "This is a simple reconnaissance mission, nothing more. Scope out the base as much as you can. Number of 'residents', what they're wearing, what they're holding. The best agents I knew could draw a map of a building from memory just by walking through it once. I trust you two to do your best."

Zaz tilted her helmet the other way in contemplation.

"You're assuming they'll let us leave the place," Kalu asserted.

"They will, once we show that we're not a threat to them."

"They'll know we're Alliance lackeys, Commander. If you haven't guessed, tourists don't come here often."

"Alliance lackeys?" Gorman laughed. "You're giving us too much credit. The Alliance, from what I gather, could send a fleet of ships and tanks to rain hell on this place if they really cared about stopping these criminals here and now. Certainly not two fresh-faced rookies whose blue uniforms don't even fit. No offense."

Silence fell inside the Bluntnose. Nerves were creeping high as the crew realized that they were actually going to follow the Commander's plan.

"I'll be on the radio the whole way through," Gorman's tone changed as he sensed their discomfort. "Just keep calm, hold your guns close but don't fire unless your safety is at stake, make sure your helmets are always on…"

Gorman smiled and donned his aviators.

"…and stay frosty."

Kalu and Zaz let out a communal groan. They fiddled around with their straps, undoing them and scrambling towards the rear door.

"Wait a second," Gorman quickly called to them. "Won't the cold just…freeze me as soon as you open that door?"

"You should be fine over there, engine's right under your feet," Kalu reckoned. "As for us, we should be careful," he nodded towards Zaz.

"The armor keeps us safe, no?" Zaz tugged on her helmet to make sure it was on as tight as possible.

"Kinetic barriers will be out for about five minutes. Sudden cold just overwhelms the power cells for a bit, cuts your shields off," he snapped his fingers for emphasis. "Assuming it really is Level 1, that is."

"You doubt that? I'll admit, I thought my armor would be handling this much better."

"It's got a jungle pattern on it."

"So what?"

Gorman went to turn around and say something, but Kalu and Zaz were no longer in the Bluntnose. The quality from their helmet radios was so good that he hadn't noticed that they were already starting their trek through the snow to the base. It wasn't long before he spotted them out of the corner of the window. They were more than happy to make the trudge through the thick snow bearable by taking up the airwaves some more.

"Think you could make a snowman out of this stuff?" Kalu asked.

"You're more than welcome to try," Zaz scoffed. "The galaxy's first ammonia snowman. Another milestone for humanity."

"You don't think some turian or salarian's gotten really bored once and done it already?"

"Turians make snow weapons. Salarians think snow's a waste of time. Asari, though?"

"Have you ever met one?"

"No, have you?"

"Only on the extranet."

"Ouch."

Gorman was losing track of the conversation. Just as well this was when a new, very much welcome voice broke through static and into his earpiece.

"Come in, Bluntnose, over."

"Hello?" Gorman jumped in his seat.

"Commander? Ça fait du bien d'entendre your voice, over."

A spark flew out of the Commander's earpiece. He paused for a moment to let Kalu and Zaz acknowledge, but for whatever reason, their radios were no longer audible. Perhaps the makeshift upgrade to his earpiece not only fails to translate everything, but cannot work both short-range and long-range at the same time.

"White? Is that you?"

"Glad to see your knowledge of la couleur de la neige remains intact. Je t'ai sur le radar, stopped right on top of the base, over."

"Roger that. Turrets are active, but not firing on us. Kalu and Zaz are en route to the base."

"You trust them, over?"

"Kabiru's got a good head on his shoulders."

"You know who je fais référence, over."

Gorman understood that one, and sighed. It was good to hear from the pilot under these circumstances, but maybe there was something useful he could be doing instead of badmouthing their biotic acquaintance.

"Can you get eyes on the base?" he asked.

"Already looking at it, Commander. Tourelles, antennes, heating system -"

Something in Gorman's mind clicked.

"The translator's not giving me everything, but did you say…heating system?"

"Affirmative. Geothermal, if my data's not a total fabrication. Ça devrait être to your…right, over. Opposite the entrance." Sure enough, he recalled that there were those metal pipes in that direction. Gorman's teeth chattered – a geothermal hot spring would be fantastic right now, he thought.

"Let's say, hypothetically, things go south and we don't want that heating system anymore. Anything you can do about it?"

"What are you planning? …over."

"Bluntnose's guns are a no-go. The turrets would shred me if I fired from here. Give me a codeword, Lieutenant. If I say it, I want you to blast the heating system with the Shackleton's cannon."

"…"

"Lieutenant?"

"Pierre Blanc."

The Commander raised an eyebrow. Who could that be?

"…Alright, I can do that."

"Good. Be careful out there. À bientôt, Commandant."

The pilot's voice cut out, and was immediately replaced by two frustrated ones. Gorman glanced back out the windscreen and could make out two armored figures standing outside the main doorway into the base.

"Gorman? I swear, after all the effort I went to hooking up that ancient earpiece of his…"

"I'm still here, Kalu. Finally heard from White."

"Owe me ten credits," remarked Zaz. Kalu audibly scowled.

"We've buzzed the door, Commander," declared Kalu. Before Gorman could relay his new information, he saw the doorway open. "Looks like someone's home." The two armored suits slipped inside. Even with the tightest squint, Gorman couldn't discern anything from beyond.

Now, there was nothing to see except a base, a few turrets still pointed towards him, snow-capped hills until the horizon and a flurry of flakes that was continuously drifting by. There was nothing to hear except the wind gently swaying the Bluntnose, and the thrum of its engine under his feet. It was cold, bitterly cold, but bearable with the knowledge that it was so much colder outside. Out of every feeling and emotion, what he was experiencing the most…was loneliness. He cast his mind back to his own time, and to one of its greater scientific achievements. He felt like a Mars rover. Disconnected from everything, except a tenuous radio connection. Coming to the future had a way of making the Mars rovers look quaint. He wondered if they were still there – and in another thought he never imagined he may ever have – if he might have the ability to check up on them.

Time for contemplation passed the Bluntnose by.

"Zaz here," came through the earpiece.

"Zaz!" Gorman bolted upright. He'd almost dozed off. "What's the situation?"

"That's far enough, both of you," the radio picked up tremendously deep, grizzled voice that snarled from somewhere not too far away.

"Nice…uh, atrium you have here," Zaz hid Gorman's involvement, but couldn't hide her apprehension. It seemed like she and Kalu were in the belly of the beast now. "Living quarters down that way, past the columns and tables? Must be plenty of space for all…"

Gorman held his breath.

"…fifteen of you."

Gorman involuntarily let go of that breath. Fifteen? That's a small army.

"How observant," grated the voice. Its hostility was palpable. "Who sent you?"

"Is that a Kishock?" Kalu made his presence known. The Commander assumed he was referring to a weapon. If this was the right answer, it was bad news – they were likely dealing with a criminal syndicate as warned. "Don't see too many around these parts."

"Don't see too many humans, either," barked their irritable counterpart. Even through the radio Gorman could hear a gun's bolt being pulled back. "You don't look like pilgrims."

Silence. Gorman leaned forward in his seat, rubbing his hands together for warmth.

"I'm going to ask only one more time. Who sent you?" spat the deep voice.

"Hold your ground a bit longer," Gorman whispered, hoping it got through.

"…Was it Blake?"

This was getting complicated – fast. Gorman was silently hoping that when he correctly predicted that holding firm would get their contact to divulge something, it would be something useful. A name they recognized might have been nice. Now he didn't know what to tell Kalu and Zaz. "Blake" could be a friend to this bunch…or a shoot-on-sight type of enemy.

Therefore the Commander needed someone else who could possibly have sent them. Not himself, obviously. It had to be someone they would know. Ray Toner? No, they were as far away from Tara IV and Eden Prime as you could get. Captain Chen? True, yet hardly an ally to the syndicate. He had a feeling that implicating the Admiral from the recording was a future disaster waiting to happen. Who else, then? Macaulay McFinley? Peter Szymanski? That guy from the televised big event who talked about having a seat on the Council?

Gorman found the best out of a slew of bad ideas. He leaned further forward, and whispered into his earpiece once more.

"The Council sent us," declared Zaz. To Gorman's surprise, she went one step further. "In our tank outside is the first human Spectre."