16 – Feros

Kevin Gorman was one happy Commander.

He was in his element for the first time in far too long, leaning forward and plucking fresh bullets from the workbench. His new tool's omni-gel converter, as 'Sally' had explained, was a game-changer in weaponry even for something as old as an M16. He was blown away when she demonstrated breaking down a trinket from Ray's stash into its fundamental components. Ceramics, alloys, powders. When she then showed him how to use the converter to fabricate actual, three-dimensional objects from those components…for example, a five-five-six millimeter bullet – he let out a giggle so excitedly that Blanc had to ask over the intercom whether a hyena had come aboard. The only problem was that he was never going to remember how to do it without the quarian's help. He only had bad memories of working with printers, stretching all the way back to his first job, a summer internship at Dunkin' Donuts' headquarters. The rounds folded neatly into the long-empty magazines with satisfying clicks. The Commander's trusty rifle was back in action.

His other sidekicks were preparing for Feros in their own ways. The Bluntnose was sparkling clean, allowing Kalu to focus on getting every other weapon – those that were actually useful – in working order. Zaz was taking inventory of their stock and supplies. According to her second-hand data, the planet would quite literally be a breath of fresh air, no breathers required, with temperatures reasonably cool as opposed to lethally cold. Saal'Inor, happy with Gorman's omni-progress, now busied herself calibrating the ship's entire electrical grid. She went into great detail about how geth pulse weaponry would obliterate the Shackleton in its current sorry state, most of which went right over the Commander's head. Kalu remarked that in a few hours she did more work than any engineer at Tara IV in a month.

Satisfied with his weapon of choice, Gorman decided to make sure the ship's most crucial crewman wasn't slacking off. He waltzed to the bridge to see a field of stars with something fuzzy and green out in the distance, and to hear his pilot monotonously repeat a phrase over and over.

"Feros colony, this is SSV Shackleton, come in, over."

"How's it going, Lieutenant?" Gorman laid a hand on the helmsman's seat, which immediately slipped away as the pilot swiveled around. There was a look of boredom behind the beard, but also a bit of anxiety…or was it anticipation?

"Total silence, Commander," Blanc scratched his chin, "I did detect some heat signatures at the relay, so somebody besides us came, or left, within the past day or two. Otherwise…we're well within comms range and I'm getting nothing."

"Can you tell if it was the geth?"

"No idea, I'm afraid. Wasn't much heat, so not a massive fleet, if that's any consolation. Although…we've been worried that the geth were developing heat masking technology for years, now. Something that could trap emissions, make your ship invisible to most if not all sensors. We're probably decades off from that sort of advantage, but the geth? When you don't need to worry as much about cooking your metal 'crew', it's an obvious next step."

Gorman had to shake his head in disbelief at what passes for common knowledge these days. It then dawned on him that he didn't really know much about Blanc himself – maybe learning complex interstellar engineering tips and tricks was just a hobby of his…or maybe it just came with the job.

"Why did you become a pilot, Pierre?" he enquired.

This was not the question Blanc was expecting. His face initially contorted into a typical smirk, ready for a snappy quip back, but it mellowed when he realized the Commander was genuinely curious. His fingers itched – he'd already had his cigarette for the day and to his great dismay there were none in Captain Chen's resupply cache.

"Moments like this, I suppose."

"What do you mean?"

"We're in deep, over our heads, outgunned…isn't it exciting?"

"It's nerve-wracking."

"Speak for yourself, Commander. Any other pilot would have laughed in your face at leaving Tara IV in a batarian deathtrap, but you could say I'm not just any other pilot."

"You're…a daredevil?" Gorman was talking with an extraterrestrial earlier, yet somehow this revelation was just as surprising, and made just as much sense.

"Kevin, please, some respect," Blanc took offense, "I much prefer the term 'adventurer'. Ever since I was a little boy, gazing at the ships over the streets of Rennes, I've always dreamed of going one step further. I begged my parents to buy me the newest flight simulators. We could only afford the old ones, you know, with no haptics."

"Your parents were fellow pilots?"

"Bakers. We have a nice boulangerie on Rue Vasselot. They never gave two thoughts towards space, thought colonial life was just for the rich, the foolish, and the North American…no offense. When they finally indulged me, and we went on a family vacation to Luna, that really sealed the deal. I wanted to see what's out there firsthand."

"You went to the Moon…on vacation?"

"It's not as boring as the vids suggest. Sure, there's little more than mines and museums, but I liked it. Watching the Earth from your window…you don't forget it. It leaves you wanting more."

A museum on the moon. Gorman laughed internally at the very notion. Another entry added to the bucket list once he got back home.

"The Alliance was the natural career path. See the galaxy, make friends in faraway places, fight for humanity, the usual benefits. I wasn't the top pilot at the Academy – I crashed the Flamingo more times than the instructor could handle – but I was happy to go wherever the brass needed me."

Blanc broke. He fumbled around in the just-for-emergencies pocket of his fatigues, pulling out tomorrow's cigarette and every day's lighter. One puff set him straight. Gorman considered the facts, and tried to draw the life story closer to present.

"So why retire?" the Commander asked.

"The short answer? Got bored," Blanc chuckled, but not without a hint of melancholy. "Took my earnings, bought a ship, hired a couple crewmates and set forth into the unknown. After the MSV Burnley incident, I was tired of postings in the safe zone, needed to get out on the frontier." Blanc made sure to emphasize that last word. Gorman winced. He knew where this was leading – and knew that at the tale's conclusion he would introduce a bewildered man wearing khakis. "It went as well as you'd expect. One dive into the Terminus Systems can make you yearn for the quiet of a place like Luna. We were lucky to get out of there with our ship intact. Figured the Hades Gamma cluster would be safer. With a name like that, who were we kidding?"

"The batarians?" Gorman filled in the blank.

"My crew went down with our ship. That rusted slaving craft you found me in? That was a tenth, no, a hundredth the size of what finally got us. Thing was massive, took up my whole viewport. Didn't even try to communicate, ask us to surrender, it just…blasted us. Not really a full barrage, more like swatting a fly. We were little more than an inconvenience. I barely got a look at it – in a situation like that the escape pods are what immediately comes to mind."

"Wait, let me get this straight, so you weren't attacked by the batarians?"

"They just picked me up from my pod. Hardly the type to give me a lift home, of course, but I was just happy to be out of that other ship's way. Happy and very, very, lucky."

Gorman opened his mouth to respond. A connection, no matter how remote, was forming in his mind that mysterious 'big ships' were increasingly common second-hand reports recently. However, another voice cut in to give their opinion on the situation. It didn't come from anyone aboard the ship, but somewhere far out in the distance on a fuzzy green orb.

"This is Feros, Zhu's Hope colony, say again? What other ship, over?"

The cockpit speakers crackled into life. Blanc almost leapt from his chair. He thrust the cigarette into Gorman's hand so he could swivel around and twist around holographic audio dials. He reined in the frequency and, after a quick glance at the Commander for approval, cleared his throat to respond.

"We read you, Feros colony. This is SSV Shackleton. Eh…disregard last, what is your status, over?"

Static dominated the airwaves. Blanc furiously readjusted the dials. Gorman's fingers were almost starting to get burnt.

"Good to hear you, SSV Shackleton. Zhu's Hope is holding despite some remaining geth presence. We're surviving, even with the…recent events." There was audible murmuring in the background. Blanc turned his head to the Commander, plucked the cigarette back into his hands, and whispered something about permission. Gorman leaned towards the cockpit and took charge.

"This is Commander Gorman, requesting to dock…over?"

"Another Commander?" could be made out through the speaker. A different voice, the one behind their new contact at the colony.

"Sending you the coordinates now, Commander. Docking bay three. Follow the smoke."

Gorman and Blanc exchanged a worried look, before noticing a progress bar being slowly filled on a monitor at the cockpit's other side. It completed with a ding. Blanc gave one more dispatch to the colony.

"Coordinates received." No response. "See you soon, Feros, over." The static cut once and for all, and the helmsman's seat swerved around again. "Sounds like they're okay, but that's the geth sightings confirmed. Notice how they didn't give numbers…for themselves or the geth."

"You don't describe a robot invasion as 'recent events'," Gorman nodded in cautious agreement. "Get on the intercom, it's time to inform the crew."

One by one the crewmates arrived. Relaying the information to them was easy. There wasn't too much to add beyond 'expect anything'. Zaz gave everything she knew from stories about Dave's contact. Prothean ruins galore, but she was unable to expand upon that. A single tomb or a massive complex remained to be seen, Dave last heard from his mystery relative, whose name she finally remembered to also be Dave, coincidentally, three years ago. The colony recently turned five. Gorman got the feeling he was on the right track to start cracking the big mystery, the reason they were going here in the first place.

It just couldn't be a coincidence that the geth attacked in force where prothean relics…and humans are. Twice they've targeted these colonies, and twice they'd beaten him to get there first. Gorman knew better than to assume a working beacon would be waiting for them upon arrival, but it wouldn't hurt to heed his own warning and prepare for anything.

It was therefore time to delve into the ship's cargo.

Supplies for the Feros colonists ranged from very much useful to definitely superfluous. An abundance of fresh water filters, power cells, and canned nutrition gave a lot of indication as to what Chen and the Alliance were expecting them to find once they arrived. Once again, there were no volunteers to lug around the sniper rifle – but a new service handgun found its way into Saal'Inor's grateful grasp. If anyone was motivated to fight lingering geth troopers, Gorman assumed it would be her. Equipping weapons turned to fashioning themselves with accessories. The Commander donned his shades, and insisted he didn't need the armor even after it saved his life. Likely a side-effect from the overconfidence he gained from having a working and firing M16 again. He finally understood what Ray saw in the weapon. Blanc found a baseball cap – and moaned about stereotypes when asked whether he would have preferred a beret.

"What do you think?" asked Zaz, rummaging for anything they might have missed in the very last of the Toner treasures. She had produced a white tube with a cap, upon closer inspection, sunscreen.

"Pass," started Kalu, but then he gave another look at Gorman, busy being explained to by the quarian on why the 'future' guns don't have magazine ammunition. He grabbed the tube. "On second thought, let's bring it."

"Gorman's been frozen a lot lately, I'd hate for him to get burnt," chortled Blanc, having picked up his new headwear and starting his climb up to the bridge before the autopilot gave out. Once he'd ascended to the cockpit, returned to his favorite seat and took in the view, he called over the loudspeakers for all to do the same. The Commander's crew stepped up and down to the bridge. Directly out the front viewport was no longer a fuzzy green dot in the darkness, but a magnificent planet.

Suspended in the void was the light side of an orb, covered entirely in obscured faded green landmasses. Immense ashen clouds swirled in bands across its reddish-tinted atmosphere. One could tell they weren't 'normal' rainclouds – they were darkened with a sort of soot, looking more like dust than anything. Breaking through this dust were etchings of pale brown and worn green, accompanied by dim lights. Strangely enough they seemed to take up most of the surface. The planet got closer, and closer. Gorman took up the captain's chair, and his eyes widened. Those weren't etchings – they were cities. Maybe 'city' was the best descriptor, it contiguously stretched outward from the equator almost all the way to the poles. What patches poked above the cloud layer must dwarf anything Eden Prime boasted in urban terms. And Zaz said the colony was only about two thousand strong? With a continent-size city all to themselves? Blanc throttled down and banked up as the Shackleton began its descent. Flames licked the window, and the craft began a gentler shake than the last orbital entry Gorman remembered.

The dirty cloud layer was high over the ground – but the skyscrapers went higher. Thin, unimaginably tall structures, once silver but faded and rusted into a sooty grey, came into view as the Shackleton levelled out. These weren't your average Earth towers, of course. Gorman couldn't help but be reminded of amped up versions of the prothean beacons themselves. Some looked more intact than others, with tops of towers missing, carved out, or having collapsed into another high-rise nearby.

"Incredible," Kalu broke the awe-induced silence.

"I'll admit, I thought Dave was exaggerating," Zaz remarked. "This planet really is nothing but ruins as far as the eye can see."

"Is the colony running out of one of these towers?" Saal'Inor questioned.

"They're not on the ground, I can tell you that much," Blanc chuckled. "Sensors don't paint a pretty picture for the surface."

"It's not safe?" Gorman pried.

"Choking dust, piles of rubble taller than this ship, atmospheric pressure well above 'safe'. Great spot for a honeymoon."

"Great spot for a colony," the quarian joked. "Any other species would see all that and stay far, far away. Not humans."

"We like a challenge," Kalu had the audacity to speak on behalf of the entire human race. Luckily for him, the other humans aboard found themselves agreeing.

"Which one is our one?" Zaz was trying to spot 'Zhu's Hope' from among the dozens of rooftops the Shackleton was carefully veering around.

"Should be ahead…now," Blanc waited until his instruments were certain.

Zaz snapped her fingers and pointed to a specific tower somewhere on the horizon, behind a cover of smog. A wider towering structure, featuring damage to its sides, and, in a dead giveaway, smoke billowing from its crown. It was connected to a thinner, shorter skyscraper by a thick bridge…that was also burning. All eyes were transfixed upon the scarred building as it drew nearer. The harm to its side was comprised of a set of incisions and a scratch mark that faded down beneath the clouds. Worryingly, it too was smoldering – a recent wound. On something as huge as this building, one could only wonder and indeed shudder at how that came about.

The Shackleton banked up and left, passing between the towers in a swooping motion over the skybridge. This maneuver took several minutes to perform, a testament to how huge the whole complex was up close. A good few floors from the summit, an awning and opening were visible. The final approach began and the ship lurched closer and closer until it entered the shorter building's docking bay. All that could be seen out the front viewport now was a foundation of sand-colored concrete and rusted metal.

Slowly the ship crawled to a halt. The sound of hydraulics came to life at the portside docking hatch. A promising green light flared up above it.

"Green means go," Blanc remarked as he flicked the last essential switches and rose from his seat. He glanced to Gorman. "Coordinates say the colony's right above us. Your orders, Commander?"

Gorman hummed. Unlike their last destination anyone could tag along with him, but unless they planned a road trip on the planet's lethal surface there would be no retreat to the safety and firepower of the Bluntnose if anything went bad. There would be no bombardment from the Shackleton's cannon's, either, if the structural integrity of this place was as shaky as it looked from the skies.

"Blanc, Kalu, you're on cargo duty. Zaz, Saal'Inor, you're with me. We'll scout ahead, get up to the colony and see what's going on." To the nods – and groans – of the bridge, the plan was put into action.

Hearing 'Decontamination in progress' always instilled quite a bit of confidence into the Commander, yet when the hatch on the other side of the corridor parted, he was blinded by the natural light that poured in and his fearful jitters returned in force. He stepped onto a concrete gangway, flanked on either side by his team – a former criminal and mind-warrior from a colony of her own rowing in to save another, and a friendly creature from outer space hoping to even the score slightly against the mechanical monsters who doomed her people. Somehow he, perhaps the least interesting one, was leading them, and in a classic diamond formation they ambled down the walkway while taking in the sights.

There were crates around – because of course there were – but overall it was a brutalist concourse of heavy-duty concrete and worn metal. Cracks in the vast walls increased their unease tenfold, and every so often a faint rumble could be heard. Not loud enough for alarm, but definitely another unwelcoming sign. Gorman held his rifle's sling for support and took a deep breath in, immediately coughing it right back out. The air was laden with dust and smelled stale. If it was this bad this high up, the surface was every bit as inhospitable as described.

Instinct forced the Commander's fist in the air and stopped him in his tracks. The sound of boots shuffling to a halt came from behind.

"Is something wrong?" squeaked the quarian.

Something was wrong. From the unpainted, monochrome walls to the bare floors and rusted railings, to spot something natural and organic was what the Commander's brain was desperate to do, and so when a bloodstain on the ground lay in Gorman's path, he was quick to notice.

"Blood," he stated. "Looks somewhat recent."

"Geth don't bleed, Commander," Zaz affirmed the notion now forming in his head.

"Just conductive fluid, actually," Saal'Inor corrected. "But if there's human blood in the docking bay, there might not be much of a colony left. This could turn into an evacuation."

"Let's find out," Gorman sighed, producing the M16 from his back and checking its shiny new ammunition by pulling back the charging handle. "One way or another, be ready."

The concrete underfoot veered right. What seemed from a distance to be just more cracks in the structure turned out to be scorch marks on either end of the open-air corridor. There was a battle here, but as the Commander had learned, the geth tended not to stick around afterwards, instead disintegrating away and leaving only a trace of fried metal.

Inside an arch the trio found themselves at a stairwell. They were more or less at its bottom, any further descent blocked by an overwhelming pile of rubble. A foot at a time, they started their climb. Burns adorned almost every surface. Zaz swore under her breath as she strode over a particularly weak step with a hole in it. Underneath them was a drop so far down that it defied the Commander's outdated architectural understanding. It was hard to believe that the protheans, who built such elegant and magnificent superstructures as the mass relays, were also responsible for this ugly, crumbling wreck of a tower. Every few steps Gorman had to brush dust and debris off his turtleneck. Signs of contemporary life on this planet-sized city were finally recognized. Where walls had finally given in, a patchwork of tarps and straps were fixed in place. This was obviously not a prothean decision, but some good old fashioned human 'Eh, it'll do' ingenuity.

Natural light beamed in from an entryway to the right, highlighting innumerable motes of dust fluttering about. Upon rounding the corner, Gorman raised his hand to shield him from unobscured daylight. His eyes quickly adjusted, and were greeted by the structures and citizens of one of the skyscraper's rooftops.

Grey and brown colors dominated the open area – crumbled concrete, pipes and tubes, cables draped overhead on all sides. The first thing he noticed was the wreckage of a big ship taking up the view ahead. It must have crash landed at some point – memories of his own touchdown on Eden Prime flooding back – but it was intact enough to distinguish itself from the rest of the rubble, and looked like it had been moved aside by a big crane. Dirty clouds hovered in the background, pierced by other towers. Dim electric bulbs flashed to make their presence known, but actual fires were far more noticeable. No towering infernos, luckily, instead the lowly embers of the shipwreck and other debris. Right in front of him were overturned cargo ramps with chest-high grooves cut out of them like the ramparts of a castle. Makeshift barricades, he guessed. To reach the colony was good and all, but just beyond the defenses were the colonists themselves, and a massive wave of relief washed over the whole crew. They were wearing matted, muddy tan outfits and huddled in groups of two or three around a doorway into the ship and a set of control panels along a string of tubes. However, some looked cleaner, not to mentioned more impressively dressed in white coveralls with orange and black stripes. Come to think of it, thought the Commander, this was the most people he had seen on 'solid ground' in a long, long time. Well, humans, that is.

As Gorman and company strode over loose cables and twisted metal, heads were starting to turn towards them in unison. Another perceptible rumbling underfoot was ignored as two colonists approached, weary smiles on their faces. The one on the left was a short man of maybe forty, with a razor-thin buzzcut, round face and harsh bruise at his temple. To the right was a pale woman with fringe-length hair and light body armor on. One could tell it was jet black coming out of the factory or fashion line – now smothered in layers of browning soot and dust. At her back was a familiar Lancer rifle. HK must be making a fortune out of that seemingly ubiquitous gun, Gorman thought.

"Welcome to Zhu's Hope, Commander," they both said at once, simultaneously extending their hands. Upon noticing they shot each other a sheepish look. Gorman didn't care – he brought his own glove forward.

"We spoke on the radio," the man continued. "Davin Reynolds."

"Greta Reynolds," followed the woman.

"Glad we could help," Gorman shook each hand with vigor. "Zaz, Sally and I came up to find you all, the rest of my crew are bringing Alliance supplies up behind us as we speak."

What was really happening behind him was Zaz nudging the quarian, mouthing her new nickname with a smirk.

"They'll need some help with those stairs, we bet," Greta responded.

"We'll send some of us down," Davin added. Both Reynoldses gave a glancing look behind them, to the group examining the pipework. They turned around perceptively and nodded, beginning to walk towards them and the path down. As the diverse cast of colonists passed by, they exchanged pleased looks and greetings with the Commander's crew. Gorman saw no earpieces on their heads – so how did they hear the man from all the way over there? Maybe the wind, thought Gorman as he took another breath. His lungs didn't violently reject the air this time, naturally he reasoned if the colony's been here five years they've figured out a way to make this upper area at least somewhat livable.

"…Appreciate it," Gorman snapped back to the two smiling 'Ferosians' before him. "You two run this colony?"

"We're not in charge," laughed the woman. "We don't really have a leader right now after the…attacks." Her initially cheery tone was quickly wearing off.

"Talk to Arcelia, she wanted your help to clear out the last geth hiding in this tower," the man casually stated, pointing a finger down the way to the crashed ship. Gorman's heart skipped a beat. Seeing people going about their business around them was enough to make him forget that the geth were very much present. "If you need supplies, talk to Ledra. He's desperate for someone to trade with after the last Commander bled him dry."

Gorman opened his mouth to question, but the woman took over.

"And if you need to talk to the ExoGeni researchers, they're here, but you better do it soon. We hear they're planning another expedition."

"Stay safe, Commander!" concluded the man, and the two of them broke off to rejoin whatever conversation or colony maintenance they were doing before.

The prevailing thought in Gorman's mind: What's the big rush? For Gorman to have 'expected' anything would be asking too much given all he'd seen recently, but at a colony in distress he'd predicted blood and bullets, not smiles and chores. His gut was screaming at him that something was off, and it was indeed correct – robots gone rogue were lying in wait somewhere nearby and half the colony was reduced to tinder – but there was a feeling that once again he was dealing with a problem beyond his understanding. Gorman shifted on the spot, before remembering he wasn't alone. He turned to his silent crew, staring at him with uneasy brown eyes and an orange visor.

"Thoughts?" he queried.

"Smiling and talking business while geth could be around every corner? Sounds almost quarian," Saal'Inor gave a nervous chuckle.

"ExoGeni must be the company Dave's…Dave works for," deduced Zaz. "If we're still here to find another beacon, that expedition might just be our best chance."

"Agreed," acknowledged Gorman. He twisted around again to begin their walk deeper into the colony. "Once Kalu and Blanc drag up the cargo, we'll see if we can tag along with that expedition. There's too much prothean stuff here for there not to be a beacon." He knew he was probably lying through his teeth with that statement, but he so desperately wanted it to be true. After recent difficulties – and injuries – he needed a simple victory to get back into rhythm…but what if someone beat him to the punch again? The trio ducked under exposed cables and nodded to chatting colonists to reach an impasse. Fallen debris from a dizzyingly long way up blocked the route to the other side where the man had gestured. To get there would require going through the crashed ship, which looked impressively intact up close.

"And what was that about the 'last' Commander?" Gorman rhetorically continued. "What if it's the same…the same…the…uh…"

Gorman's speech stammered to a halt, and his body froze on the spot. There, waltzing out of the ship's entrance without a care, he recognized a frog. Normally not a cause for his brain to malfunction, but this particular frog was standing upright and wearing clothes.