Regardless of allegiance, they called it X-57. Twenty-two kilometres in diameter, weighing somewhere in the late sextuple digits of tons at the minimum, and formerly home to some three hundred and fifty seven souls. One-hundred and eighty-nine of those souls were Panoceanian, engineers and contracted labourmen of the Hyperpower, while one-hundred and sixty-eight were from Yu-Jing; loyal citizens of the State Empire.
The numerical divide was, according to the preliminary situation reports, at least half the issue. It had been almost half a century since the end of the Neo-Colonial Wars, but the scars ran deep. Yu-Jing didn't trust Panoceania to save their people; Panoceania were similarly doubtful of their hundred-year rival's good will. The result was a deadlock while X-57 rocketed toward the surface of Terra-Nova.
That was the other half of the issue, and the more pressing of the two. Four hours ago X-57 had been slowly drifting toward Terra-Nova, ready to link up to its orbital cycle for the long process of hollowing it out into a new orbital dock and shipyard. Cheaper than building from nothing in the void, and with the benefit of producing lots of mineral wealth to resell or repurpose as part of the station's construction. Fusion torches, three massive propellant engines, had been used to initiate the journey. For three days of drift they'd been cold; now they blazed again, little red candles upon the craggy surface of the asteroid.
X-57 had been repurposed from building material to extinction event. If it hit Terra-Nova, the planet would die. The hijackers were unknown, as were their intentions. To Commander Shepard, the intent seemed rather obvious; someone was very, very upset about humanity's progress in settling Terra-Nova, and would rather the entire planet be rendered inhospitable to life than allow that to continue.
Panoceania and Yu-Jing blamed each other, naturally, for all of four minutes until both realized how utterly nonsensical the accusation was. Both factions had settlements on Terra-Nova, they'd all but divided the world in half down the equatorial line. The X-57 impact would be a point of genocide, and self-inflicted at that. They had agreed that neither was responsible for the problem at hand; then they had resumed arguing over who would solve it first.
That was where Shepard came in. When the great powers of the Sphere argued and the mechanisms of bureaucracy froze up, SwordFor intervened. Bureau Aegis had confirmed available forces and sent the order for nearby ships to reply. The closest had been the Normandy. It carried a Section Spatha detachment of 20, the largest available unit ready for deployment within the timeframe afforded by X-57's speed and acceleration. 20 would not be enough, the Bureau heads worried.
Then somebody, likely a Deva functionary assigned to the task of contacting the Normandy, had read the ship's crew manifest. Captain David Anderson was the ship's commanding officer; a trustworthy, able career officer with a spotless service record. But the name beneath his brought a breath of relief to those whose word decreed the mission ahead.
Jonathan Shepard. To his subordinates he held the rank of Commander, but within the long and storied martial legendarium of the Human Sphere they had a greater title for him. In Panoceania, in Yu-Jing, in the Haqqislamic faith and in the Nomad nation, they called him the Lion of Paradiso.
||Command and Intelligence Center, O-12S Normandy, 5.2 hours until X-57 impact event||
The sight of an Omega-type soldier in full battle regalia was equal measures inspiring and frightful; a towering vision of the human propensity to shield oneself from harm with plates and meshes of metal and polymer. Along those paths familiar was it cast, the upthrust gorget like the prow of a battleship rising from the molded shapes of the breastplate; the ribs guarded again by rondels in a golden yellow, the plates set along the thighs and the pauldrons edged in that same evening sunlight shade of gentle yellow, though the polymer which it outlined was a blue as rich as a summer sky.
The helm was the greatest departure from those knightly forms; it bore no cross nor corvid beak, nor indeed any opening which was not set about the neck. It was closed at the face, with two narrow nozzles alike to a gas mask which echoed the shape of those vicious dying days of ranked warfare, downthrust at a steep angle from the narrow grey chin; and above the monocular rectangle eye, unblinking and unflinching, observant of all which moved before it. There was the eye of the Bureau Aegis, justice which could not be blinded and indeed saw all.
There went Commander Shepard, monument of man's mechanisms in war and peace, the blue and yellow gauntlet of justice inviolate. He passed through the CIC of the Normandy like a giant amidst common men, eight feet tall at the shoulder in the hulking vastness of his battle armour, passing by uniformed and void-suited bridge crew at their consoles and control nodes. The quantronic halo of his Omega armour was like a warship passing in the sea, an exaggerated and dangerous presence that was at once threat and reassurance.
"Commander," spoke one of the two men assigned to guard the entrance to the CIC's communications relay room, snapping to attention with his rifle held tight across his chest, chin high and eyes forward. "The captain is waiting, sir."
"And the Turian?" Shepard's voice rumbled through the speakers set into his helmet, and though the voice rasped slightly with that mechanical timbre it did not sound as a machine would sound. It was too warm, too personable.
"He's been waiting longer, sir," the man reported. "Been in there since we hit the relay in Pax."
"Carry on, Private." Shepard said, before the doors opened at a passive thought relayed through his neural link, allowing him passage.
The communications chamber was at the heart of the Normandy, tucked neatly behind the CIC between the two wings of stairs going down into the general quarters. The air was alive with signals, live links establishing to the comm buoys scattered across the Asgard system. Electric signals danced in the empty spaces between them, tiny wireframe traceries Shepard's helmet turned into visible marks on space he could follow with his eye and his mind. He felt the link to X-57, cold and dead, cut off from the source. Threads of pale grey like tarnished steel extended from the small array of symbols that represented the asteroid facility, themselves fractured and spasmatic.
All of the links were tied, as if by electric thread, to the man at the centre of everything aboard the Normandy. Captain David Anderson, the venerable leader of SwordFor Unit 7. He was in his dress blues, a rich shade of midnight threaded with golden yellow at the ends of the sleeves and the hem of the coat. Shepard saluted, armour whirring and clanking, and Anderson matched the motion before gesturing to the bank of screens he stood before.
"The situation's improved somewhat, thankfully," he said, voice a pleasing baritone that echoed with a sort of assured, confident authority. "Yu-Jing is actually sitting at the table to negotiate a joint response."
"Panoceania?" Shepard asked, settling in his position a few paces behind Anderson, flanking the older man.
"Less enthusiastic, at least on the bureaucratic end; still, we've received a back-channel message from Colonel Kusari." Anderson gestured to the video screens. "He has a unit of Akalis ready for a combat drop, politics be damned."
"Yu-Jing are offering Tiger Soldiers?" Shepard guessed, and Anderson's nod settled the inquisition silently.
"And a Fireteam of Liu-Xing," he added. "Apparently the Invincible Army has decided to take this situation seriously."
Shepard looked over the reports. Colonel Kusari was offering twenty Akalis, the Sikh commandos of their religious conclaves on Acontecimento; the Yu-Jing officiates were offering an equal number of Tiger Soldiers, already armed and ready for deployment. Two aeromobile assault teams; and then Shepard's unit for a third target.
"The plan is to hit all three fusion torches with rapid insertions, prevent our unknown hostiles from rallying to reinforce any single point," Anderson explained. "Then congregate and launch a combined assault on the asteroid's command centre."
"Do we have the specs on the fusion torch control facilities?" Shepard asked, and instantly Anderson waved a finger and the full 3D structure was floating in the air between them, projected on his helmet.
Standard prefab cube construct; first floor was a warehouse space, meant for storing supplies in heavy cube containers. Airlock access, two-stage entry hall, the main warehouse floor, then the upper promenade-like corridor into a back office space, accessed by a staircase built into the far wall. Classic Panoceanian design, mass produced and air-dropped by a bulk lander into place. Shepard had breached and cleared at least twenty just like it over the course of his career, as had most of his team.
"Control of the Fusion Torches is in the second story office, naturally," Anderson said, before clearing his throat. "The timing will be tight, Shepard. Impact is in five hours, but critical momentum will be reached in less than three."
"When can the Colonel have his men airborne?" Shepard asked, and watched Anderson blink-check his own message logs; he could see the older man's personal geist flicker into existence, a little electronic avatar shaped like a demon from some old Earth comic book, before he forwarded the info to Shepard.
"One hour," Anderson spoke the shorthand aloud as Shepard read the log. "It'll be a close thing."
"We can handle it, Captain," Shepard assured him, nodding. "I'll have the team ready for deployment in twenty minutes."
"There is one other detail, Shepard," Anderson said, before nodding silently to a corner of the room Shepard had idly noted seemed a touch darker than the rest. "You'll have someone tagging along."
The air shimmered, then the shadows faded. Armoured feet clanked on the metal floor of the room as a tall, avian shape advanced into view, personal camouflage unit fading. The shape was Turian; a torso like a ship's keel, driving forward in a blunt wedge, with the elongated helmet and three-clawed hands reaching up to remove it. The face beneath was familiar to Shepard; his hand left the butt of his pistol, and he nodded.
"Nihlus," he said. "Is this what you've really been up to, then?"
The Turian was unlike most of his kind Shepard had met, both in coloration and in attitude. His carapace armour of his face was a mottled red like old bricks, his facial markings a series of elegant white loops and waves that traced a sort of ankh-like shape across his face. His eyes were an acidic green, without any whites like all turians, unblinking and staring up at Shepard. His armour was an atypical Turian design, incorporating a more rounded and streamlined silhouette that put Shepard in mind of Haqqislamic supersoldiers or Yu-Jing Invincibles. The quantronic sigils and wires did not like the Turian, rebelling from his alien software and signals.
"Humanity has been under observation for this chance, Commander," Nihlus said, his voice rumbling with that two-tone timbre all Turians spoke with, vocal and the sub-vocal. "I have long suspected you were ready; recently, I convinced the Council to consider the same."
"That explains the needling on the back of my neck," said Shepard, and he cocked an eyebrow skyward behind the mask of his helmet. "You're analyzing me?"
"Evaluating," Nihlus corrected. "The Council is finally willing to accept that perhaps, humanity is ready to join the Spectres."
Spectres. Shepard called the name up with a twitch of a finger; the Turian translation was more directly "dark blade spirit" which seemed hardly promising, but he already knew the real name. Special Tactics and Reconnaissance, the Council's right hand responsible for holding the gun, knife or treaty papers depending on the target. He also knew the meaning behind the evaluation.
"You want me as a Spectre?" he asked, and Nihlus shook his head.
"I think you have the most promise, of the twelve names your various governments put forward," the Turian said. "Your record is almost spotless; and of course, your heroism at Paradiso is famous even in the furthest reaches of Council Space. Even among my own people there are those who have raised cups to the glorious stand of the Lion of Paradiso."
Shepard's hand twitched at the title, as it always did. But he held himself, nodding slowly.
"Who are the others?" he asked, but Nihlus shook his head.
"I am not at liberty to say," the Turian said. "But none have quite the record you do. Regardless, I will be joining you on X-57; I wish to see your abilities first hand, both in combat and in command."
He paused a moment, as if in consideration, then slowly extended a hand, the nearest thing Turians had to a palm facing downward. Shepard blinked, before extending his own hand and taking Nihlus', turning it the right way around and shaking it once.
"It's an honour to be considered," Shepard said, and he truly meant it. He knew he'd made himself a known quantity in the Human Sphere, but he'd had no idea whatsoever that Citadel Space knew anything about him, let alone regarding him as one of humanity's best.
Anderson, Nihlus and he spoke for several more minutes, planning the more exact details of the oncoming assault on the fusion torch control centre, before Shepard departed, leaving the two alone while he went down to the hangar bay and armory.
There, after a slow but mercifully short elevator ride, he found his number two already busy organizing the troops. Lieutenant Kaidan Alenko cut a sharp figure in his battle raiment, the long black coat and blue armoured mantle of the Quantronic Intervention Unit framing his face. He had that old-world handsomeness about him, a square jaw and sharp eyes and black hair groomed close to the scalp. The biotic amp in his ear was already hooked to the rest of his equipment, a soft blue glow emitting from the wires running all through the fabric of his coat.
The rest of the men were in full hustle; the younger troops, largely Kappa personnel, were pulling on armoured body-sleeves and checking combi-weapon munitions, while the older Delta and Epsilon veterans were more methodical and calm. He saw Doctor Chakwas reviewing a list of combat drugs with Corporal Aldo, the other Lambda. Aldo was an engineer, technically, but with no TAGs or ground vehicles to support she'd found herself under Chakwas' wing learning the functions of a corpsman.
The older woman looked up as he entered the hangar bay, the size of his armour and presence both silencing all in attendance. Before she could speak, one of the Kappas glanced up, then straightened up.
"Executive Officer on deck!" Sergeant Barrow cried the words in a stern voice, and as one the various O-12 personnel snapped to attention, weapons laying on workbenches and armour half-on. Shepard dismissed them with a wave of his hand.
"Carry on," he intoned, helmet automatically pitching his voice across the entire hangar, before he looked directly at Alenko, at which point the helmet returned to normal modulation. "Alenko, report."
"Five minutes to ready, Commander," Alenko declared, holding a quick salute for a moment which Shepard returned. "Will we be arranging fireteams?"
"Kappas split into two Cores, Sergeant Barrow leading one and Jenkins the other, with Aldo and Chakwas in each." Shepard instructed. "Chakwas with Jenkins' team, Aldo with Barrow. Sergeant Handelmann can take Private Sadler on longstrike overwatch, and the Deltas can arrange themselves as a Haris."
"Drop order?" Alenko checked, glancing sidelong at the trio of parachutist elites as they played rock-paper-scissors for the right of fireteam command.
"Preliminary terrain scans are telling us…" Shepard paused; he could both see Alenko's encroaching question, and feel it coming on from the way the older man rapidly began flicking through various recent messages and updates.
"They haven't sent us the full reconstruction?" Alenko asked, sounding distinctly annoyed.
"No," Shepard confirmed with a shake of his head. "Yu-Jing is willing to collaborate with us on a military level, but they hold that X-57 is sovereign property of the Jade Empire."
"That's ridiculous," Alenko protested, and Shepard nodded. "Sir, a hot drop into a combat zone with a total lack of area-knowledge is insane."
"As insane as hijacking a Submondo mainframe in a collapsing space station while tethered to a corpse?" Shepard asked in reply, and Alenko's mouth slid shut, an agitated frown still stitched in place. "I'm not happy about it either, but there's not much we can do besides knuckle up and hit as hard as we can as soon as we touch the ground."
Kaidan shook his head, and Shepard's hand settled firmly on his shoulder. Kaidan was not a small man; six foot at the shoulder with the bulk of a career soldier only moderately lessened by his biotic metabolism, but in Omega armour Shepard had two feet and two hundred pounds on him.
"Keep your head up, LT; you're not the one being watched by half of Citadel space," Shepard teased, before walking toward the rest of his troops while Kaidan blinked and baffled in the background. "O-12, listen up!"
Every head turned and every eye opened. The Deltas ceased their bickering and fell silent, the Epsilons stilled and watched with cold eyes, the Kappas were all in a row staring at their commander. Doctor Chakwas had been with him long enough to smile knowingly, tapping Aldo on the shoulder to turn her gaze toward Shepard. He pulled off his helmet, and made sure to meet each and every one of their eyes as he spoke.
"In fifteen minutes, we're going to drop into a kill-box twenty-two kilometres around," Shepard said, his voice booming across the suddenly quiet hangar. "The entirety of X-57 is a free fire zone until the crisis is resolved and its course has been corrected. I want weapons hot, eyes up and heads on swivels, because intel has dropped the ball hard and we have no damn idea what is waiting for us on that rock."
He saw some of them shift; the Kappas, mostly, younger and less experienced. For a few this was their first real combat drop; they'd done policing and security beats, a few had even been part of boarding actions before. Live-fire combat on open ground was something new.
"The situation is Code One," Shepard said. "We are cleared for lethal contact. Today, each and every one of you has a license to kill."
That put some fire back in the young ones. Typically O-12 personnel were non-lethal contact only, barring the Razor and Lynx personnel whose entire purpose was the termination of high-risk targets. Code One was the O-12 "shit has hit the fan" shorthand; the mission priority shifted from policing to military action, the guns came out and whatever had messed up badly enough to cause a Code One quickly learned why O-12 were the ones who decided what such scenarios were to be called.
"However," Shepard watched the Epsilon pair in particular, especially Handelmann. "Not everybody down there is an enemy. Panoceania and Yu-Jing will have units on the ground; Akali Commandos and Tiger Soldiers. You have each been previously briefed on what both look like, so if you see a familiar silhouette, keep your finger off the trigger until it opens fire."
He waved a hand and sent each member of the platoon two files, containing the data on their different allies. A few of the Kappas started reading right away as he said his next piece.
"You have each trained for this day for a long damn time. You're humanity's best, each and every one of you. That's why you're here, now, when we need you most." His voice was firm, a practiced cadence; giving speeches was second nature to him, after all the publicity tours they'd sent him on after Paradiso. "That rock is going to kill a planet, and every soul on the ground, unless we can stop it.
"It's time to do what you've trained for," he concluded, pulling his helmet back on. "It's time to save the world."
He turned back to Kaidan, only to see Nihlus shimmer into being. The quantronics in his helmet rebelled at the Turian's presence again, briefly, before registering him as a friend. The Turian stared at him for a moment, before nodding approvingly and vanishing again before Kaidan could turn to see what Shepard was looking at. The LT looked back to Shepard, who opened a private communications channel with a blink and a twitch of a finger. Kaidan pulled on his helmet, and Shepard spoke.
"Nihlus will be shadowing me for the duration of the mission," he said. "He's examining my capabilities."
"Why?" Kaidan asked.
"Apparently, O-12 put my name on a list of potential Spectre candidates," said Shepard. "And today is the day they see if I'm actually worthy of consideration."
"So where is he?" Kaidan asked, and then Shepard could practically hear him blink. "No."
"Cloaked," Shepard confirmed. "We'll inform the rest of the team on the way down. Last thing I need is Handelmann putting an AP-T round through a Citadel Spectre's skull because he thought my shadow looked funny."
||X-57, Asgard System, 5 hours until X-57 Impact Event||
"Delta Unit, stand by for aerial insertion," said Shepard, watching the corner of his HUD as the little blue dot that was their ship approached the green line demarcating the drop-height for the Delta Unit."
"Affirmative," said Sergeant Liuye. "Deltas, remember; this is a cold-rock drop, not a gravity well. Gentle on the thrusters, tuck and roll."
The other two Deltas chimed in with their own affirmations, unbuckling the six-point safety harnesses and stepping toward the rear drop-door with weapons in hand. Liuye held her boarding shotgun in one hand, runnnig a thumb along the edge of the barrel in her usual habit. Corporal Whitman and Private Hosha flanked her, the former with Spitfire in hand and the latter touching one finger to the Panzerfaust anti-armour tube hanging from his belt.
"Rear doors opening," the pilot warned, as red lights blinked on all over the carrier bay. "Insertion point is low. No drift. Our angle is pretty sharp, Commander."
"Stay the course, airman," Shepard said. "If OpFor has secured control of the main station's air-defense guns, we'll need to come in low."
The pilot didn't respond, likely focusing on his work. Shepard always appreciated that about Cortez; he was always intensely concentrated on the job at hand, and rarely complained about the difficulties intrinsic to his job. Some pilots just couldn't shut up, like Moreau up on the Normandy's bridge.
The Deltas all walked about halfway down the insertion ramp, before turning and facing into the dropship. The squatted down low, Whitman throwing a thumbs up seconds before they all leapt backwards, off the ramp and out into the void. They vanished from sight, before three small blue lights ignited in the moments before the ramp slid shut again.
"Airborne!" Liuye reported, her voice crackling more with the distance. "Commander, target sighted. We'll be on the roof in thirty-sec. Visual track on hostiles, numbers unknown."
"Affirmative, Delta unit," said Shepard, unbuckling his own harness. "Hit the roof and find the entry point, do not engage until ground team has gone hot."
"Copy that, Commander," said Liuye, before the channel crackled as she went silent. Shepard switched to Cortez' channel.
"Time to landing?" he asked.
"Thirty-three seconds, Commander," Cortez replied. "I heard the Sergeant. Scans give me a low rise about half a kilometre north of the insertion point. I'll put you down behind it, keep the guns off you."
"Copy," said Shepard, before switching channels again, this time addressing the ground team. "All units stand by for deployment, sub-thirty-sec."
Thirty seconds passed in what felt like an hour, as everyone started unbuckling and readying gear. Shepard was up and standing at the head of the unopened ramp before most of the Kappas had managed to unbuckle, his multi-rifle braced over his shoulder. The heavy-riotstopper built into his left forearm was loaded with a canister of compressed adhesive and shock-absorbent foam. Behind him, the rest of the ground team was standing by as the dropship lurched and slowed, descending at a rapid rate.
"Ramp in five," Cortez intoned. "Four… three… two…"
Shepard leaned forward, one leg in front, multi-rifle clamped to his hip and head down.
"One." The ramp slid down and Shepard was gone, sprinting up the shallow rise to peek his head over the hilltop. He did see enemies in the distance, his helmet gradually pinging them as their humanoid shapes emerged from the shadow of the prefab unit. They seemed to spot him, opening fire with simple small-arms, though with little accuracy.
"Delta Unit, prepare to breach," Shepard commanded, as his arms pumped up and down, his armoured boots leaving small cracked indentations in the stony ground of X-57. He was running at somewhere in the ballpark of 91 kilometers an hour, aided by X-57's lenient gravity and the Omega armour's incredible artificial muscle fibres. Normally, he wouldn't push himself like this. But the clock was ticking, and he hadn't the time to be slow and steady.
The distant figures of his enemies rapidly grew in size as he approached. Their armour was human-type, instantly liberating the Turians, Salarians, Quarians and Krogan from the suspect list. That left humans, Asari and Batarians, or some unknown new species. Only two of those made any real sense.
Shepard was moving fast enough that his enemies were having trouble squaring sights on him, blazing away with automatic weapons that missed him by a mile or pinged off the Omega armour's potent shields. After less than 15 seconds he was upon them, extending an arm and blasting one off his feet with the impact of his vambrace against a skull. There was a savage crack as both his neck and his faceplate shattered, tumbling end over end in the asteroid's dust. Shepard ducked low, dropping to one knee and bringing his rifle up. The multi-configuration was currently set to AP-Tungsten, which he snapped four rounds of into the nearest hostile.
The shots burned his shield to cinder, before the next burst ripped his front open in a spray of dark crimson, droplets lazily drifting toward the ground in the low gravity. The rest scattered, running for cover around corners or in the shallow door-well of the prefab. Shepard saw the rest of his team moving across the open ground, the Kappa units and Kaidan running to catch up to him, while the Epsilon duo set up on the hill proper.
The door-well was the most critical, Shepard turning and moving toward it with his rifle shouldered. He couldn't hear Handelmann's multi-sniper fire, but he saw one of the hostiles peeking around the edge of the wall vanish in a burst of blood. Another opened the airlock, but before he could get inside Shepard was on top of him, grabbing him by the collar of his armour and dragging him back into the open, smashing him against the wall. He used his right knee to pin the hostile against the wall by back of his neck, turning and firing his multi-rifle at another foe who was peeking the distant corner.
The Kappa teams were closing the gap, combi-rifle fire silently rattling off of the walls and eventually putting down the hostile. Shepard turned and grabbed his captured opponent, dragging him into the airlock. The Kappas filed in after him, rifles up and searching every corner. Shepard pinged the door controls, which Aldo shut with a wave of her omni-tool.
The room flooded with air, and Shepard reached down and forcibly pulled the helmet off of his enemy. He was only partially surprised to see a mottled, four-eyed face blinking and snarling back at him, needle teeth bared in a predatory snarl.
Before the Batarian could speak, Shepard gestured for Kaidan, who approached with his para-baton in one hand, the end crackling with electricity. Several Kappas moved closer, always curious to watch the pair in action.
"Mind the door," he ordered them, voice crackling through his helmet's speakers, before grabbing the Batarian by the arms and slamming his back against the wall. "You; how many inside?"
"I'll never talk, filthy human!" the Batarian snarled in reply.
A nod from Shepard saw Kaidan jam the para-baton's crackling end against the Batarian's stomach, leaving the alien writhing and cursing. Another nod and Kaidan withdrew. Shepard stared down the Batarian, who was blinking frantically.
"That was setting three," he said, voice low. "Kaidan, how many settings does your baton have?"
"Seven, Commander," the LT replied, his own voice distorted into a rasping whisper by modulators built into his blank-faced helmet. "None lethal… technically."
"Go to five," Shepard said, before leaning in close. "Unless, you're ready to tell me what I want to know?"
The Batarian cursed at him in whatever language it was Batarians spoke, and Shepard nodded again. Kaidan jammed the baton against the Batarians ribs for a long five seconds, leaving the alien spasming wildly. Shepard's HUD warned him that his hands were being exposed to a mild electric charge. By the time Kaidan withdrew his baton, the Batarian looked exceptionally queasy.
"How many?" he repeated.
The Batarian met his eye, or tried to; the monocular helmet of the Omega armour always made that a difficult process. He was technically staring at the bridge of Shepard's nose, not that it was his fault.
"I…" the Batarian coughed, before his head fell. "Thirteen. Thirteen, damn you."
"Thank you," Shepard said, before releasing him and nodding again. This time Kaidan walloped the Batarian across the head, a flash of electricity rendering the alien unconscious. Shepard briefly wondered what Nihlus thought of that. From what Shepard knew of Spectres, they ran the gamut of options, from ultra-violence as the first resort to humanitarian policing.
"Private Genndav, restrain this one," Shepard ordered, the Kappa rushing to obey with cuffs already in his hands. "The rest of you, stack up. I'll take point. Alenko, are you inside the system?"
"Cameras are all dead," Alenko replied. "But the office door is locked. Possible hostages?"
"Batarians would use the crates," Shepard replied, before shouldering his multi-rifle, nodding to Corporal Jenkins to open the door. "Mind your fire."
Then the doors opened, and Shepard was shot in the chest with a shotgun. Fortunately, his shield deflected most of the slugs. Unfortunately, his shields pinged and went into the red, meaning he was a few rounds away from being exposed to hostile fire. The Batarian carrying the shotgun had less than half a second to turn and begin withdrawing to cover before Alenko dumped two bursts of combi-rifle fire into his back, burning out his shields. Shepard shot him in the back and kept back, waiting.
Sure enough, the Batarian stumbled into the open, where crates stopped forming a corridor, and somebody else shot him in the side. Shepard winced; he'd figured the Batarians would have terrible trigger discipline, but such blatant disregard for friend/foe identification bothered him.
"Core One, enter at my six," he commanded, advancing into the corridor when his shields began to hum back to life. "Core Two, stand by. Delta Team, breach."
There was a sudden and muffled bang from above, followed immediately by the screaming of air rapidly trying to escape a depressurizing space as the Delta team dropped in through the new hole in the ceiling. Immediately after the last of them cleared the gap however, there was a strange sputtering sound as the hole was flooded with a rapid-setting foam that sealed the gap. Shepard's HUD still warned him that the air pressure had dropped significantly, which was the least of his problems as the Deltas opened fire on the Batarians scattered throughout the facility.
The low-gravity endemic to the planet meant that they could easily drift to their preferred positions, using the thrusters on their entry-packs to all but fly through the air. Shepard tracked the blue tracers of Whitman's spitfire and sighted a Batarian, who was frantically scooting around the corner of a shipping container to hide from the Delta's withering fire. Shepard snapped a three-round burst at him, burning his shields and forcing him to duck low.
Behind him, the Kappas of Core One were filing into the room, filling the air with a steadily chattering tirade of combi-rifle fire. Shepard advanced slowly and carefully; in CQB, it payed dividends to check each and every corner in turn. The Batarians were completely off their game; these were slavers and raiders, not hardened defense teams. Most of them had probably never been shot at by professionals before. Shepard dropped another when he was stupid enough to run around a blind corner, before dropping to one knee and tagging another when he peeked the same corner. His head vanished in a wash of red, and Shepard bit the inside of his right cheek as he refocused.
The local quantronics were completely scrambled, the digital patinas layering this place almost incomprehensible. The Batarians had learned quickly to scramble the Mayanet whenever they hit a human target; there was nothing more frustrating than having one's position exposed by a random civilian's geist informing everyone around them that they could see the shooter. The logic-bomb method was rarely flawless, but a sloppy solution was better than getting your pirate raid livestreamed to the entire Human Sphere.
As it stood however, Shepard could barely manage to make out the presence of three unique haloes; three digital signatures, civilian in nature. He flicked an order to Alenko to clean up the local net, before snapping another burst of three rounds at a Batarian moving between boxes. His shots went wide, but this time Whitman followed his tracers and poured a baker's dozen rounds into the Batarian, prompting a burst of red from behind his new cover.
That brought the reported tally up to nine dead, and Shepard was starting to hear an absence of gunfire. An all-call led to a general consensus that the main floor was clear, but that fell short of the earlier Batarian's count.
"Rally on my position," Shepard ordered. "Delta, high ground. We have four left."
Delta clambered and boosted upward, onto the second-floor walkway. Shepard made for the stairwell, where he found Batarian number ten laying in a pool of his own blood, having caught a stray round in the neck. He hit the body with three rounds in the chest for certainty's sake, before advancing up to the walkway, where all three Deltas were stacked up on the facility's office door.
"Month's pay for a damn bio-visor," Liuye muttered, clutching a flash pulse in her hand. "Door's locked, Commander."
"Alenko?" Shepard asked, and after a moment there was a flash of green from the door's control panel. "Thank you, LT."
Shepard advanced, but before he could order the door open they beeped and slid open all on their own, exposing an unwelcome sight. He'd found the three remaining Batarians; and the three remaining humans, all of whom had pistols jammed against various parts of their bodies while the Batarians held them as shields.
"Careful, human," the largest of the three, whose hardsuit was coloured a dreadful shade of light green, snarled. "We'll kill them!"
Shepard didn't speak. He kept his multi-rifle trained on the lead Batarian, while is geist tracked the positions of the Delta unit's weapons. Narrow lines projecting probable projectile positions gradually tightened on the other two Batarian's faces. Shepard took a breath. He thumbed the switch on his multi-rifle, the internal ammo-blocks rotating; he was firing phase-ammo now.
"Let them go," he said, once.
The largest Batarian didn't respond. Shepard waited a three-count, inhaled, then blinked twice.
He, Whitman and Liuye each fired once. His phase-round skipped through the lead Batarian's shield with a tiny pulse of blue light, tearing through his exposed upper lip. The angle was clean, slipping up and through the base of the skull to perfectly sever the nerve cluster. Batarian and human physiology shared many details, particularly in the nervous system; Shepard's round had effectively turned off the Batarian's body, leaving him to crumple to the ground in a heap.
Liuye's round required no such fancy precision; she was firing a boarding shotgun in Hit Mode, effectively shooting a thumb-sized slug at the sort of speed that would see it rip through solid steel. Her Batarian's shield vanished in red at the same time his head effectively dematerialized in a gout of scarlet blood, pistol dropping from limp hands.
Whitman had the hardest task; his Spitfire wasn't designed for single, overwhelming fire. Shepard needn't have worried, however; before Whitman's projectiles could even make contact with the Batarian, the alien was already dead. Nihlus, an ominous black shape cast in silhouette by the bright office lights, materialized in a pulse of blue light, pulling the trigger on a Paladin pistol half an inch from the Batarian's head. The shield had no chance to trigger; the Batarian fell, Whitman's rounds shredding his shields as he toppled headless to the ground.
The three civilians screamed and dove to the ground. Shepard breathed out. Nihlus looked at him, the t-shaped visor of his faceless helmet glinting in the low light. The Turian stared a moment, and nodded once, before vanishing again.
He and the Delta unit stood in silence for a moment. Then, unprompted, Whitman spoke up.
"Commander, with the fullest honour and respect due to a man of your rank and reputation; why the fuck isn't he doing that more?"
"Just focus on the mission, Whitman," Liuye said, before taking one of the civilians by the arm and carefully lifting him back up. "Commander, what about these three?"
Shepard reached down and grabbed the former lead Batarian's hostage, lifting her back to her feet with two armoured hands. She was still whimpering and sobbing, her face a mess of tears, snot and unkempt hair. The familiar sight of blue and gold was clearly a comforting one, as she pressed herself against his armoured figure with a wail of relief.
"It's alright, ma'am," he said, his voice modulator cutting back on the usual mechanical growl as much as possible. "You're safe now."
"Thank you," she mumbled. "I… th-they were killing everyone else, but they said… they were going to-to take us, to…"
"I won't let that happen," Shepard promised, holding her shoulder reaffirmingly. "Ma'am, can you or your colleagues shut down the fusion torch?"
"I-I… Simon could, m-maybe…" she mumbled, as the last of the hostages climbed up to his feet.
He was a plain-looking man, with streaks of grey in his short hair and beard. He looked Panoceanian for certain, likely of Australian or American heritage, with the pale skin and lean build of someone who spent much of their time doing labour-work in a hardsuit and low gravity. He blinked at Shepard, before nodding once.
"Simon Atwell, sir, chief engineer," he said. "I can deactivate the fusion torch, but this rock has three."
"They're being handled," Shepard assured him. "Go ahead, Mr. Atwell."
The engineer returned to the office and got to work, sitting down behind the desk and hammering away at the haptic keyboard. The other two civilians were clearly in shock; Shepard sent them downstairs, to be examined by Chakwas and Aldo, before blinking open his comm-channel with the Epsilon duo outside.
"Handelmann, are we still clear?" he asked.
"Yes sir," Handelmann replied, his voice a monotone hum through the comm-channel. "No hostiles in sight."
"We're about to turn the torch off," Shepard said. "Stand by to make for the main facility."
"Affirmative," said Handelmann. "We'll be ready."
Shepard vaulted over the walkway's guardrail, half-floating to the ground in the low gravity. He passed by Chakwas and Aldo examining the injured civilians, before reaching Jenkins. The young corporal was standing guard by the airlock, clearly still running hot from the firefight, shifting his weight from foot to foot and holding his rifle tight against his chest. Shepard touched him on the shoulder.
"Commander!" Jenkins jolted, but his finger stayed off the trigger. "Nothing to report, sir."
"That's a good thing, corporal," Shepard said. "Listen; I'm leaving you and Core One to guard this facility. We have the X-57 project's head engineer here, and he needs protection."
"What about the main facility, sir?" Jenkins asked, disappointment in his voice audible even through the modulation of his helmet's speaker. "It'll be where the fighting's thickest. You might need Core One."
"We'll have Yujingyu and Panoceanian special forces backing us up, Jenkins," Shepard assured him. "And I need someone I can trust to keep these civilians safe. You're up to it, I know you are."
That put a little energy back in Jenkins, who stiffened up and saluted very primly before turning to check on his new charges. He didn't even wait for dismissal, which hardly bothered Shepard; he was already gesturing for Sergeant Barrows and his Kappas to prepare, prompting the older man to call Aldo over. The Deltas fell in line behind Shepard shortly thereafter, with Alenko waiting by the door.
"Whoever sold them this logic-bomb must've been charging a premium," the LT noted, the fibre-bundle cables connecting his collar to his back glowing with a blue-purple light as he explored the local Mayanet. "It's really scrambled the network. Commander, I don't know if I can clear the debris without a few more hours to sort everything out."
"Leave it for Bureau Toth then," said Shepard, as the rest of the units sans Core One filtered into the airlock. "We need to focus on getting this rock back under human control."
"Batarians." Alenko shook his head. "You don't think this is an attempt at starting a war?"
"No," said Shepard. "MO is too similar to a standard pirate raid. These aren't Hegemon troops, they're raiders. Whoever's in charge just has higher aspirations than trafficking in human lives."
"Like ending a few million of them?" Alenko asked.
"It looks that way," Shepard said. "Once this is done, I'm sending a file to Bureau Trimurti. We need to put some actual legal pressure on Kar'shan, or this is never going to end."
"The Council won't go for it," said Alenko. "They already blame us for the Batarians quitting the Citadel completely."
"We drive out their snakes and they don't even call us saints for it," Shepard sighed. "I'm sending the report anyway. We can't let them keep trying this."
"I'm with you Commander, I am," said Alenko, before reaching out and touching Shepard's vambrace. "But I don't know if now is the time to be planning any big political plays. You're under evaluation, remember?"
Shepard sighed. Alenko was right, which was a common enough occurrence that he really ought to be used to it by now. The airlock finished depressurizing and allowed the O-12 team outside, where Handelmann and Sadler were already waiting. Neither looked even remotely impatient, just another benefit of the genetic tinkering every Epsilon underwent upon being assigned to the unit.
"Still no word from our allied elements," Shepard noted, after beckoning for Sadler to lead them out. He blinked a new channel open. "Shepard to Normandy, this is Commander Shepard to Normandy. Do you read?"
"We have you, Commander," Captain Anderson's voice crackled softly on the speakers. "Status report?"
"First torch is dark, repeat, first torch is dark. Three civilians recovered, all alive and in good health. Thirteen hostiles neutralized. Enemy identified as Batarian, sir. Repeat, Batarians are on X-57."
He couldn't hear Anderson's long sigh, but he could hear the weariness in his voice when he next spoke.
"We're getting reports from the Panoceanian detachment that they've successfully shut down torch three, Shepard," Anderson said. "But the Invincible Army hasn't said a word. Torch two is between you and the main facility."
"Are we updating the operation, sir?" Shepard checked.
"Affirmative, Commander," said Anderson. "Figure out what has the Yujingyu staying quiet, and provide assistance if necessary. Then advance to the main facility and put a stop to this madness."
"Affirmative, Captain," Shepard replied. "Commander Shepard out."
Shepard checked the tacmap, pulling the projection up into sight. Torch two was another fifteen minutes north; a slight diversion from the northwestern direction of the facility, but near enough to count.
"Change of plans, people," he called over the unit's shared commlink. "The Invincible Army might be in hot water. We're heading for torch two to see if they need any help."
"The Yujingyu can't handle their own problems?" Liuye sounded bitter, which didn't surprise Shepard in the least; she'd grown up in the Jade Empire, and experienced the many wonders of its tangled and vicious bureaucracy firsthand.
"If we were facing danger, we'd hope for the same from them," Shepard said. "Unity and cooperation, remember?"
Liuye sighed, but didn't speak again. The rest followed suit, silently marching toward the distant torch. Its red glare was visible before the rest of the facility, an ominous glow on the horizon growing brighter and larger with each step. They came to the foot of the last hill between them and their target.
"We look before we leap," Shepard said. "Handelmann, Alenko, you have point. Check the situation and report back."
The Epsilon and Cyberghost both nodded, advancing up the hill silently. Neither was equipped with anything so advanced as Nihlus' camouflage package, but both were trained in cover and concealment, with Handelmann in particular being notorious for his ability to appear where you least expected him. Shepard was fairly certain the man had figured out how to move through the Normandy's life-support vents, which was a somewhat alarming concept he had yet to figure out exactly how to address.
Both crested the rise slowly and carefully, weapons in hand. Handelmann peeked first, then Alenko. Shepard tapped into Handelmann's helmet-mounted camera, the Epsilon's geometrically shaped geist welcoming him with a quiet blip. He stared at the sight before him for a long moment, before blinking the footage away.
"Shit," he said. "O-12, get moving, and watch your fire. This is now a rescue mission."
Codex: Human Sphere
Though not officially recognized as a singular government or power, the Human Sphere is the colloquially agreed-upon name for the collective of governments and alliances which occupy the recognized borders of human space. Due to this unusual (by the standards of the wider galactic community) lack of unity, humanity and the greater powers Human Sphere are more broadly represented by the O-12 Council and a loose coalition of ambassadors, diplomats and officials within wider Citadel Space.
Key among these powers are Panoceania, the Hyperpower and foremost nation within the Human Sphere; Yu-Jing, the Jade Empire and inheritors of the great Eastern traditions; Haqqislam, a post-reformation sect of one of humanity's largest religions; and the O-12 Council, the successor to the now-defunct United Nations and the nearest thing humanity has to a singular representative government.
Codex: O-12
Named for the twelve nations which first founded it, and the twelve bureaus which constitute its operational power within the Human Sphere (and the wider galaxy), O-12 are the appointed wardens of human law and order. They are a government all their own, organized and unified under the Four Pillars of Virtue: Unity, Cooperation, Support and Progress. It is O-12 that enforces international law across the Human Sphere, policing even the highest levels of Yujingyu and Panoceanian government, ensuring religious tensions between the Neo-Papacy and Haqqislamic churches never boil over, and overseeing Aleph, the Artificial Intelligence who herself oversees so many of humanity's affairs.
The primary wing of O-12 authority recognized across Citadel Space is Bureau Aegis, the law enforcement arm of the Öberhaus. Consisting of several smaller organizations, such as Section Spatha, Starmada and the Gladius Teams, Bureau Aegis have authority in matters of policing, interdiction and military action as ordained by the O-12 Security Council. It is Bureau Aegis that provides security for human diplomats dispatched across Citadel space, as well as patrolling interstellar trade routes and safeguarding human settlements across the Sphere.