12: The Warlord

It was, at least in terms relative to Earth-time, close to four o'clock in the afternoon. The sky had filled with ominous grey clouds, a hint that the heavy rains that this region of the planet was known for were well on their way. It was about all Lyssa could see from the rear of the transport, the windows here narrow and close to the ceiling, offering little in the way of a real view. She also could not move any closer to take a look through the nearest window to her, partly because her hands were bound behind her but also because of the pair of batarian soldiers seated across from her. One was the Sergeant who had cornered them at the old foundry, Sergeant Cazark if she was not mistaken, having heard the name spoken by some of the other subordinates. Cazark appeared much more relaxed than the lower ranked and somewhat younger batarian seated next to him. This one had a pistol drawn and aimed squarely at Sevarn, who was in a similarly bound state and seated to Lyssa's left.

Cazark relaxed into his seat, the armoured truck lurching suddenly as it struck another deep pothole in the old highway. They were far from the city now, well beyond the reach of any of the local authorities and certainly far from any human-friendly zone. Living on Anhur as a human could make for trying times, and there were entire zones within the settled regions of the planet that were not at all safe for humans in general. The Rebellions may have ended several years ago, but in some ways the conflict continued, even within the more "civilised" areas of the main settlement.

'Put the gun away, Private,' Cazark stated. He pulled a cigarette from a pouch on his armour and put it to his mouth, his multiple sets of nostrils flaring. Lyssa watched him with a scowl, the kind of withering and hateful look she only ever reserved for people like Cazark. Of course, those "people" were nearly always batarian.

'He's a biotic, Sergeant,' the young soldier said. Sevarn, looking weary and downbeat, lifted his gaze slightly so that it was no longer downcast and instead glanced towards the batarian's worried features. 'He could crush us with a flick of his hand.'

'We pulled his amp,' Cazark countered. 'He ain't crushing no one, not in that state. Best he could do for us is give us a light show, maybe nudge a few things around.' The batarian Sergeant turned to the turian then, smiling at him in such a way it briefly revealed the row of needle-like pointed teeth common to his kind. 'Hey, maybe we could take you over to the casinos in New Thebes? You could knock a few dice around at the tables, win us some money.'

'Biotics aren't allowed in casinos,' Sevarn stated, his voice hollow. He sounded weary and had spent the better part of the drive half-asleep. In a way, Lyssa envied him for that, simply because she could not fall asleep in these circumstances no matter how tired she felt and how hard she tried to relax. Falling in the company of a bunch of batarian insurgents was probably the worst-case scenario for a human on Anhur. She almost shivered at the thought of what these monsters might do to her, and she tried to conjure some form of mental preparation for the tortures that would likely be inflicted upon her. Of course, nothing really helped her in that department, and instead she tried to think about other things, like escape. So far, no avenues to do so had revealed themselves, certainly not back here in this armoured truck. They had been driving for a couple of hours now, which put them well away from any part of the continent that Lyssa was familiar with.

'Typical turian, fucking buzzkill,' Sergeant Cazark said, his voice adopting a much more aggravated tone. 'The boss is going to want to ask you all sorts of questions, by the way. And his patience is much thinner than mine.'

There sounded a thumping noise from somewhere at the front of the truck. The driver was smacking his hand against the dividing screen between the driver's compartment and this rear passenger section. His voice sounded out then, having given a few hard knocks to get the group's attention:

'We're coming up on the perimeter now,' the driver called. Cazark stuck his cigarette to his mouth and took a deep drag upon it, all while he sat upright and composed himself for their imminent arrival. Where they had come to, Lyssa had not the faintest idea. She had to assume it was some kind of insurgent base of operations, hidden far from any prying outside eyes.

'All right you two, smarten up.' Cazark gave Lyssa and Sevarn a scowl, one made all the meaner by the extra pair of eyes. 'You're going in to see the boss, and when you're in to see him there are a few things you need to know: for one, you don't talk to him unless he addresses you directly, that is, with a question that requires an answer. Secondly, you don't look him in the eyes unless he requests your full attention. And thirdly—'

'Are you sure we're meeting your boss or fucking Napoleon Bonaparte?' Lyssa interrupted. Cazark frowned, blowing smoke as he took the cigarette from his mouth. He leaned forwards then, eyeing Lyssa closely with his four scowling eyes, before he simply backhanded her hard across the jaw. The blow stung and Lyssa's head snapped to one side, pain shooting across her skull. She tasted blood in her mouth, figuring she had cut her lower lip, but she otherwise made no sound and instead returned her attention straight back to the batarian Sergeant.

'Is that how you treat all your female guests?' She asked him.

Cazark said nothing, barely even acknowledging her words and instead turning his attention to the doors at the rear of the truck. They were slowing down, coming to a halt at whatever far flung compound served as the insurgent base of operations. As soon as the truck came to a full halt, Cazark was up on his feet, moving to the rear doors whereupon he unlocked them and flung the pair of them open. The afternoon light swept in, revealing at least three more batarian soldiers in a mishmash of armour vests, visors, helmets, pouches and the like. Few here had fully consistent armour sets, another indication of the unofficial nature of this particular military organization. The soldiers outside had their weapons up, and they aimed them at Sevarn and Lyssa who were directed out of the truck and into the open air beyond.

They were in the middle of a muddy yard of sorts, one crowded with small rectangular prefabs and even some simply grey tents. Batarian paramilitary type were milling all around, dozens of them, all of them visibly armed. A large, three-floored building was straight ahead, further across the open ground, appearing as some sort of large house rather than anything military. It was practically a mansion, squat and rectangular in its general shape and fronted with rows of curtained-over windows complete with balconies at the middle and upper floors.

As Lyssa surveyed her surroundings, she took note of anything she deemed of interest: the guard towers caught her eye then, four of them, one at each corner of the compound. The perimeter walls were built from brick, previously damaged sections having been patched over with metal sheeting. Barbed wire ran across the top of the wall all around, with the main gate further behind the truck and at least two others at opposite sides of the compound. What had once been open fields beyond the large house and its outbuildings was taken up with more tents and vehicles, a veritable military surplus yard wherein equipment that had either been covertly supplied or simply scavenged was laid out. Much of it was covered in camouflage netting, keeping any high spying eyes from immediately picking it out. She supposed these batarians did not need to worry too much about someone spying on them from above, as the Citadel authorities were unlikely to do so in the Terminus Systems. With support from their government back home, these insurgents likely had it easier than most similar bands on my critical worlds. In the grand scheme of things, Anhur was little more than a backwater that had been blessed with the conditions necessary to sustain carbon-based life. It just had the misfortune of being located in a dangerous and highly contested sector of the galaxy.

'Move along,' Cazark barked. Lyssa's boots slipped on the mud underfoot as the soldier behind her nudged her forwards. Sevarn was given similar treatment by his own escort, three of the batarians sticking behind them with weapons at the ready. Cazark followed in a more leisurely manner, keeping several paces between him and the two prisoners. He continued puffing on his gradually dwindling cigarette, returning the greetings he received from passing soldiers with the odd subtle nod. A footpath started part of the way across the open yard, taking them to the house's front entrance which was guarded by a pair of armoured batarians. Their armour was in much better order, full sets with the appropriate pieces and adorned with intricate red markings upon the shoulders.

Lyssa saw these and paused mid-step, if only for a few seconds before the batarian behind her gave her another shove. She recognized the markings; she had seen them time and again since coming to Anhur, and had even seen them plenty before that.

'What's wrong?' Sevarn was by her side, his voice low. Lyssa risked a glance his way as they moved for the entrance, attempting to quell her rising anger.

'These are Vok's men,' she told him. She had thought that they might have been captured by Salak Vok's people, but she could not have been sure, not until now. 'We've been looking for that bastard for years—'

'Quiet!' One of the soldiers behind them snapped, and she received another shove in turn. Lyssa stumbled to her knees but was quick to get back upon her feet. They were only a few paces from the entrance now, and just ahead of them Sergeant Cazark was speaking to the two guards on duty. They exchanged some quiet words, with one of those soldiers nodding his head in response to something the Sergeant said. Both stepped aside, with one entering a code on the door's keypad lock that saw it slide open. The hallway beyond was somewhat bare, the paintwork on the walls flaking and the floorboards scuffed and dirtied in places. This house had seen better days, and as the pair of captives were brought inside Lyssa detected a somewhat musty, damp smell in the air within the building itself. The place felt draughty, even after the doors behind them slid closed and shut out the increasingly chilly air of the outside.

They were taken up one level, to a more furnished and somewhat less worn-out section of the house that seemed to serve as the living quarters for those running this camp. The group filed past several batarians, some of them soldiers on guard, mixed in with a few in civilian clothes who likely had support duties. There were a couple of batarian females who slinked away from the group as it passed them by. Lyssa turned her head to get a better look at the pair she saw, both of whom wore plain grey tunics and appeared to be in the midst of cleaning the place up, hauling buckets and mops. The batarian female was noticeably shorter and slimmer than the male counterpart, with a somewhat more elongated head shape and generally less squat and narrower facial features, particularly the nose and chin. Their skin tones tended to be a little lighter, but overall one might be forgiven for mistaking a batarian female for a male from a distance. The sexual dimorphism here was not as obvious as it often was for other species, but then again Lyssa supposed her difficulties in this regard simply stemmed from not being a batarian herself (and as that thought came to mind, she inwardly thanked God for her not being born a batarian).

The room the pair were taken to was a spacious office, floored with soft rugs and lit in a cool, yellowish hue from a set of fittings in the ceiling above. A desk was by one corner, with two armoured soldiers standing attentive to either side of it, their assault rifles held at port-arms. Lyssa surmised that the weird alien beast head mounted on the far wall was some kind of hunting trophy, all multiple pairs of eyes and sharp teeth lining a vaguely triangular-shaped mouth. There were other things dotted about the room, touches of the batarian home world no less: there was a painting at one wall that showed a blue-green tinted seaside view under a blue sky; another item was some kind of wooden sculpture adorned with batarian text that was mounted to another wall, coming in the form of an oval-shaped shield upon which a detailed and noticeably mean batarian face had been carved. That thing had to be ancient, or so Lyssa guessed.

These touches of Kharshan were the least of her concerns, however. Rather, it was the batarian man seated at the desk that drew her full attention then, and she found herself having to quickly tamp down the anger she felt broiling within her as soon as she laid eyes upon this particular individual.

'The two that got away, sir.' Sergeant Cazark approached the desk and gave what Lyssa assumed was a form of batarian salute, with the Sergeant raising a closed fist to the left-hand side of his chest. 'With all due respect, it would have been easier to kill them.'

'Perhaps.' Salak Vok was a batarian who was pushing into his fifth decade of living. The colouring across his somewhat weathered face was of a dull brown in tone, save for streaks of something almost burgundy running along his scalp. He was not fully armoured like his guards, rather he had simply opted for a black combat vest he wore over a deep red tunic. His four eyes roamed over Lyssa in particular, and she could almost feel that gaze prying underneath the clothing she wore.

'Sergeant, you and the others may leave.' Salak Vok turned to Cazark then, and immediately the Sergeant's expression soured. He looked about to protest, but Vok spoke again: 'My bodyguards and I can handle these two. I'll call you if I need any assistance.'

Cazark straightened up, saluted again and then spun on his heels. He barked an order in the guttural batarian tongue at the three soldiers who had escorted the pair here, before all four them started to file from the room. Lyssa kept her eyes fixed firmly upon Salak Vok, caring little for what the Sergeant had said earlier about not looking the man in the eyes. She hardly cared what Vok thought, she simply wanted to get her hands about his throat and wring his scrawny batarian neck…

'I know you.' Vok fixed his attention firmly upon her then, steepling his fingers under his chin in a somewhat thoughtful gesture. 'You were there three years ago, on New Karnak. I never forget a face, certainly not one such as yours.'

'And I never forget an asshole like you,' Lyssa snapped. She saw the two bodyguards bristle at the insult, but Vok simply emitted a light chuckle in return. He leaned back in his seat, taking a solid moment to simply gauge her. Lyssa's contempt for him was certainly apparent, as she had intended.

'You killed some of my people. You and your Marine squad.' Vok shook his head slowly. 'Did you come to Anhur just to find me?'

'I came to Anhur to do a lot of things,' Lyssa replied. 'Killing you was certainly among them.'

Vok smirked when he heard this, nodding his head as if in agreement.

'Lyssa Raine, former Marine now Cerberus. Of course, the latter is now very much up-in-the-air now, isn't it?' Vok eyed her with some curiosity. Lyssa frowned, startled to hear that this batarian seemed to know much more about her situation than he should have.

'What do you know about me, Vok?' Lyssa spat, not bothering to hide her contempt of the batarian before her. It was a contempt that she had for just about his entire species. Sure, some may have thought such a view as shortsighted, but when several good friends of yours had been slaughtered by batarians it often became difficult to remain objective on the matter.

'Enough.' Vok smirked again, assured in the fact that he knew much more than he was letting on. How Lyssa wanted to punch that damn smirk off of his ugly face. She might have done so then and there, were it not for her hands being bound behind her.

'It was your people who hit the convoy the other night, isn't it?' Lyssa asked him. 'The turian strike team, that is.'

'Yes, the turian strike team.' His gaze floated towards Sevarn, something more thoughtful taking hold upon it. 'Imagine my surprise when it turned out that the information I had been provided turned out to be legitimate. Turian Blackwatch, operating here on Anhur. An outrage, really, and something my people could certainly use to create diplomatic trouble. Of course, that's even more likely now, with a live member of that team here with me.' His four eyes visibly narrowed as he regarded Sevarn.

The turian eyed him with a somewhat more wary expression. Lyssa could only wonder as to how far down this whole thing seemed to go, as it was apparent that someone had set up Vok's people to attack the turian team. She might have asked who, but somehow she got the impression that an answer would not be forthcoming.

'And you, Lieutenant Sevarn Valus. Sole survivor of that team. I figured killing all of you would be unlikely, and part of me did in fact hope to get a hold of even just one survivor. You being brought to me now is certainly convenient for my position here, as I am no longer beholden to the instructions of the one who set up your team for destruction.'

Sevarn's brow plates morphed into a mean scowl, one that looked all the more predatory on his visage. Vok gave him an almost innocent wide-eyed look in return.

'Don't be angry with me, Lieutenant. I simply did as I was told. You don't understand the complexity of the situation you have found yourself caught within. There are forces at work on this planet that would use both of us as pawns in their game. I don't know about you, but I am not much in favour of being used by anyone.'

'Explain it to us then, Vok,' Lyssa interjected. The batarian turned to her again, seemingly unimpressed with this latest demand. 'Explain to us, the lowly human and the haughty turian, just what the hell is going on here.'

'I wish I knew,' Vok replied. 'But I don't. Not really. I do know my position will be greatly enhanced by having a survivor of that turian Blackwatch team in my custody. Insurance, if you will, something to bargain with. If I were to go to the Citadel Council with this turian, I could cause a serious diplomatic incident. After all, the turian Blackwatch should not be operating out in the Terminus Systems. That would suggest that the Hierarchy is making moves there, and as the Hierarchy falls under the overarching governance of the Citadel Council, then it would not be such a leap of logic to suggest that maybe the Council had something to do with their presence here. It could lead to scandal and the Hierarchy would face censure. In the end, my people, the Batarian Hegemony, will benefit.'

'You really think that will work?' It was Sevarn who asked this, the dual tones of his voice carrying some hint of a growl to them. 'No one cares what happens out here.'

'It's certainly worth a try,' Vok said, and he shrugged his shoulders. He puffed on his cigarette some more, eyeing the pair with a more thoughtful look to him. 'Fact of the matter is that the people who provided me the information that led to your team want you dead. They don't like loose ends, no doubt for all the reasons I just explained. You're my insurance, Lieutenant.'

Now a malevolent glint came upon his eyes then, and he turned his head to Lyssa. She felt her heart skip a beat when she saw that look on the batarian, for she knew it would mean nothing good. Not for her, anyway. Sevarn, it seemed, might prove better off whilst in Vok's custody.

'You can't honestly believe the Council would take someone like you seriously?' Lyssa asked, stowing her fears as best she could. 'You're a war criminal. You butcher people, Vok. I saw your latest handiwork out there, a muddy ditch full of corpses. Settlers, I'll bet?'

'I'm simply doing my part to rid the galaxy of the human blight,' Vok declared, a hint of pride seeping into his refined tones. 'I would gladly throw you in a similar grave, but I think you'd do better as a slave. That is, after we've extracted every piece of information we can out of you. Regardless of your status with Cerberus, I'm sure you still know something of their operations in this sector?'

Lyssa swallowed. She had expected something like this as soon as she had been brought here but expecting it and experiencing it were two very different things. Sevarn turned his head to her, and she thought she detected some visible worry on his silvery features.

'As for you, turian, you'll be staying here for a while. Naturally, as a biotic you're dangerous, even without an amp. We can't have a biotic running around without a leash on, can we?' He raised one hand, motioning to the two bodyguards behind him. They stepped forwards, and he gestured for Lyssa.

'Take her to the shed,' he told them. 'See to it that Doctor Grath gets to work on her right away. As for the turian, I want him drugged and locked up. Is that clear?'

The bodyguards nodded in acknowledgment. Lyssa did not like the sound of the "shed", and so she squirmed against the hands of the guard as he grabbed her by one forearm. She pulled back, trying to free herself, but the bodyguard spun her about and punched her hard with his free hand. The blow struck her in the jaw, further adding to the throbbing pain she could already feel there from past strikes. Momentarily stunned, the guard took the opportunity to pull her along, shoving her in the direction of the door. She was taken back outside, into the waning afternoon light as evening neared. As she emerged, it started to rain, a steady patter that gradually began to increase into a veritable downpour.

She supposed this was typical of her luck, to be dragged through the rain to face a batarian interrogator. The "shed" in question was a simple timber building at the far end of the camp, tucked well away from the rest of the buildings and tents. It held a rustic quality, the timber boards on the outside grey and weathered. A light fitting above the entrance swayed in the breeze. The ground underfoot had quickly turned into sloshing mud under the building downpour.

Batarian soldiers and their militia counterparts were all running under shelter now, save for the unlucky few who had to patrol the perimeter out in the open. Lyssa was taken to the entrance, and there the guard knocked loudly upon the metal door. Looking about, hair now sticking down to her forehead from the rain, she saw more soldiers in the vicinity. A few were watching her, no doubt curious at the sight of the human woman, likely the only one in this camp. There was no opportunity to make a run for it here, not when she was being watched by so many sets of eyes.

The door swung open and another soldier appeared. He looked to his counterpart and then to the woman he had gripped by one forearm. After a brief once-over, he stepped aside and motioned for them to come in. The guard clutching Lyssa shoved her in after him, landing her in the draughty confines of the glorified shed. Here, a partition wall served to separate the small guard station the soldier ahead of her had been manning from the more elaborate setup on the other side. One glance at the metal gurney, chains and the trolley adorned with various implements was enough to tell her she was in the one place she did not want to be.

Sevarn was taken to a different part of the camp, specifically a smaller outbuilding to the main house. This had likely served as a workshop or as some kind of labourer's quarters during the plantation's heyday and had since been converted into a set of holding cells. Along the way, Sevarn made sure to take in every bit of the camp he could see, even with the rain pouring down and visibility plummeting with it: he counted the soldiers he saw, making sure to take a mental note of those who were clearly professional soldiers and those who were militia. He counted the tents, made a rough estimate of how many batarians might be living in each. He mapped the place out in his mind, the tents and prefabs and the larger barracks-style structure he was pushed past on his way to the holding cells. And then there was the obvious armoury, behind the barracks, and as the guards shoved him along he caught a glimpse of the arsenal within through the open door. It closed as he came by, a batarian emerging and locking it after him.

Fortunately, the rain had reduced the overall gauntlet he had to face on his walk through the camp. Most of the batarians not on guard duty had gone to take shelter, but there was still a good half a dozen or so who made sure to swoop in and punch him or kick him when the opportunity arose. Turians were about as disliked here as humans were, and Sevarn could do little else but take each blow as best he could. His hands were bound, so he was in no position to throw a punch in return. His biotics were nullified once again, his amp having been pulled. Sure, he still had the basic implant that offered him refined control of his biotic abilities, but without the amp he could only muster the most rudimentary of biotic tricks. Even the most biotically potent asari would have difficulty mustering a powerful biotic attack without an amp in place. No doubt there were dampers about the camp as well, ready to be put to use if a biotic enemy made an appearance. These batarians were organized, there was no doubt about that.

Water sluiced off of his under suit. He was wet and cold and very much miserable by the time they took him into the outbuilding, and as he had figured it was indeed a bunch of holding cells. There were four of them, lined against the left-hand wall, little more than concrete spaces barely a few metres across. All were empty, and it was to the first one they took him, throwing him inside and letting him stumble to the floor with his hands still bound behind him.

The batarian guard who had taken him here stepped aside, and he exchanged some quiet words with another guard who was on duty within the building. The light fitting in the cell flickered, and more than one spot in the ceiling had sprung a leak during the downpour. The floor under Sevarn was wet, puddles forming in places. There was only one window in here, a very narrow one up near the ceiling at the back wall, barred over. It was hardly a "window", really, for there was no glass beyond those bars, just open air. As such, an uncomfortably chilly draught wafted on into the cell. Sevarn shivered as he propped himself upon his knees.

The second guard disappeared for a moment, whilst the first stood in the doorway glaring at Sevarn, his face hidden beneath his helmet. The second guard reappeared, his face visible through his helmet's visor, all four eyes lighting up with something malicious. A small case was in one hand, and the first guard stepped on into the cell with him then. Straight away, he was on Sevarn, elbowing him across the face hard enough to send him falling backwards.

The second guard had pulled a simple injector from the case, and he slipped a vial filled with a yellow-tinged liquid into the implement. It was practically a gun of sorts, and as the first guard kept Sevarn pinned the second squatted down next to him and stuck the syringe of the gun hard against his neck. Even Sevarn's turian hide could not hinder the plunge of the syringe, and the sharp sting he felt as it entered quickly gave way to something much more pleasant. For a moment there, he felt lighter, happier than he had been a moment ago. All notion of struggle left him, and the otherwise drab grey concrete walls around him seemed to light up with a swirling array of colours. His eyes opened wide, and he let out a low groan as the drugs began to course through his system.

The two batarians with him laughed, before both stood up and left him lying on the puddle-strewn floor. They need not have worried too much about him now, not with Sevarn plunging into unconsciousness courtesy of the concoction of sedatives and hallucinogens they had sent into his bloodstream. Nonetheless, they did lock the door after them, deciding it best not to take any chances with this turian biotic.

Sevarn barely moved from where he lay. He fell into unconsciousness after a minute spent muttering to himself, and his dreams involved all those good things he had experienced in his life, all mixed together in an incoherent stream that saw him move from one mingled memory to another. It was as if the last few days had never happened, and that he was not on the floor of some dingy cell in a batarian insurgent compound. And yet, some part deep within his mind made it very clear to him that this was all very wrong, so very wrong and that he needed to do something about it. To fight the nullifying tide of narcotics in his bloodstream, no matter what.

The shuttle was an unmarked civilian model, not uncommon on a planet like Anhur. As such, it made the perfect transport for the SOTIG strike team, and within the confines of the non-descript grey shuttlecraft, James Booker sat flanked by about ten commandos outfitted in black and blue armour. Aside from the general colour scheme, there were no emblems to be seen, nothing to point them towards having any affiliation whatsoever to the Human Systems Alliance. This was an off-the-books raid being conducted by a branch of Alliance Intelligence that did not officially exist, all happening on a colony world in the Terminus Systems. The whole thing was a black op, pure and simple. For Agent Booker, it was perhaps the first proper field gig he had been granted in some time.

He wore a similar set of armour to the others, sans helmet, and had instead fitted a Kuwashii model visor to his head that put a transparent blue heads-up display over his left eye. The commandos were all running last minute checks of their gear, helmets going on and thermal clips being inserted. Beneath the muttered voices and clicks and clacks of weapons and gear being adjusted, the quiet whine of the shuttle's engines could be heard.

They were flying low, skirting the canopy of the woodland areas far to the north of New Thebes. Rain had started only minutes before, a building downpour that threatened to turn much of the terrain below them into muck. Anhur's wilderness was still mostly untamed, and flooding and landslides were not uncommon in the more mountainous areas.

Booker regarded the team about him. He readied his weapon, a Locust-model submachine gun that had been modified with an extended barrel. He liked the lightweight portability of the weapon and the accuracy it offered, but a slightly extended barrel helped to give it a little more edge to its shots.

'Okay, so we're about twenty minutes out.' The waiting had always been the most intolerable part, knowing that you were headed into something dangerous, and any downtime immediately beforehand seemed to tick by almost excruciatingly slow. 'We'll land, scope the place out and see what we're dealing with. On my order, the gunship will move in and take out their perimeter defences. We estimate a few guard towers and mounted emplacements, nothing too extreme. From the satellite imaging, we're looking at may forty to fifty batarians, not all of them strictly combatants. There's a good chance even the civilians living in there might take up arms, so don't be choosy with your targets. You see a batarian with a gun, you blow them away. I want this to be fast and decisive. And if we find the turian asset inside, then we grab him, or her or whatever else it might be. The source of that transponder signal came from someone or something, and we're going to find out what.'

He saw a few nods of approval from the rest of the team. Booker thought back to Natasha and her quarian friend, finding some relief in the fact that he had finally caught the woman. He had been put on the case of tracking down the rogue agent nearly two years ago, and the pursuit had seen him bouncing about the known galaxy for much of that time. From the depths of Omega, the wards of the Citadel and even through to the gleaming towers of Ilium, Booker had seen more of the galactic scenery than most wealthy tourists ever would. All while he had drawn ever so closer to the renegade agent, who it now seemed had blown the lid on some kind of Cerberus operation here on Anhur. He needed to work out just how far down this all went, and why the turians would be involved, or what even the batarians had to do with it. This was more than just the manipulations of an Alliance Intelligence operative with a dislike for Cerberus, there was more going on here and Booker was determined to find out what. If that meant wiping out a few batarian insurgent camps, then so be it. He was hardly going to shed any tears over a bunch of dead four-eyed terrorists.

Some ways further behind the shuttle, the gunship followed along, a sleek black armoured shape against the grey sky. Wings brimming with weapons, the reinforced and tinted canopy provided no clue as to who might have been piloting it. Without any insignia, the black gunship looked positively ominous, its engines running quiet in the wake of the shuttle. With any luck, it would be keeping too low a profile for standard scanners to detect easily. Nonetheless, it would hang well back from the insurgent camp until Booker and his team had taken up their positions. And then, like the cavalry of old, it would swoop in and lay waste to the place with multiple precision strikes.

There was nothing like being left to unleash upon an enemy without having to worry about the red tape. The 'Special Observation and Tactical Intervention Group' operated on a different ruleset and had been specifically created to be able to act outside the usual bureaucratic channels. As long as they left no evidence of their being an extension of the Alliance, they were free to carry out their mission as they saw fit.

'Remember, we need to find the source of that signal. Everything else is secondary. Collateral damage should be no concern where we're going.'