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Requested by : Laurel

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I see we've entered the 'find out' stage of fucking around about the way ME bullets work. So, fun as it started-

Shut up, I say with naught but love. The rounds now work how I say because I say. I'm sure you can find a message board to argue it, but I would prefer my Review segment be for Reviews. XD

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By the end of the next week, Clan Urdnot's primary camp had doubled in size. The walls that enclosed it, built of centuries old heaps of rubble, had been peeled away for hundreds of feet in every direction and moved to further piles a mile or so out. In its near exact center sat the raised dais that the Chieftain's throne rested on, sheltered now by a thick concrete ceiling and enclosed entirely in the back and halfway for the walls to either side, where they ran down to meet the ground at a slant. Latticed metal like the kind commonly used to hold up drying concrete had been erected in the rest of the space left there, interspersed with multi-colored Krogan glass made from ground up, ancient glass from warships, vehicles and wherever else they could get it. The glass cast the entire throne-room, which was all he could say it was, in a cacophony of colors. The throne itself was a wide, stone seat pressed against the back wall on a semi-circular bit of raised stone, with rough-hewn arms and only a thin cloth laid on its seat. The open front end had a chest high - for a Krogan, that was - wall that ran to a pair of columns that split open for the passage in, where a pair of heavily armored guards persisted almost unendingly.

It was rugged and rough, but… Beautiful, in a brutalist sort of way.

Behind the rugged throne-chamber stretched a two-story concrete sort of longhouse, dotted by simpler holes for windows and numerous doors. Some of the doors were even on the second level, with newly-embedded steel stairs and walkways spidering along the outside intermittently courtesy of Alliance engineers and scrap from Tuchanka's space. Inside, he knew, was a great hall of sorts that took up much of the center of the building, with rooms to either side for storage and sleeping. Some of the latter of which couldn't even be accessed from the hall itself, which was a security provision to limit potential access points at the same time as the building limited space usage.

A pair of similar longhouses with sloped, metal-tiled roofs broken up by flat, rolling doors had been built to either side of it, stretching up to just behind the throne seat. One was a huge storage house where metal scrap, stone scrap, a variety of broken equipment and other detritus were stored for reuse alongside bricks, ingots, parts, and prefab segments already re-engineered by the other longhouse, which was filled with every kind of workshop. The top of each had sections that could open and even now he could see Krogan Kodiaks, on loan from the Alliance and repainted a ruddy orange and brown color, lowering scrap into the workshop and the storehouse alike for sorting and work.

Wide walkways stretched between each, with space enough for Krogan workers to pull rolling metal carts loaded with materials they were bringing in from the steadily expanding clean-up operation. The roads ran in front of them, too, and around in front of the throne-seat, where it sloped down to a steadily expanding stretch of open ground filled by Alliance prefab units that housed the Alliance engineers helping the Krogan, and their own equipment.

To the right, the repaired, scrappy tower he had spoken to Wrex in before stretched up, with a walkway that stretched from it to the storehouse thirty feet up or so. Dishes, antennae and cables ran from cracks in its metal and concrete front, lit up with flashing orange, red and green lights. Across from it, down a short slop in front of the throne room that force anyone passing in front of it to pass in its shadow, was a three story front with a wide, open door twice as wide as Urdnot's roads, permitting trucks, units of construction drones and more to come and go from the partially built - or, well, rebuilt - spaceport that stretched out four times as wide as the settlement already was. Five shuttlepads had been erected at the closest points, split by the wide hall and road that ran to the door, but further on was the first of several freighter pads, where, even with only one of its walls and no roof to speak of, a variety of moderate sized Krogan freighters had been coming and going, dropping off more supplies ear-marked for them in space.

"All in just a week…" He muttered, shaking his head and leaning against the wall beside the semi-circle of steps that lead up to the throne-seat. "Even we would have taken a bit longer than this…"

At least, unless they used prefabs - but the Krogan largely weren't.

"Impressive, eh?" He turned as Wrex came down, stopping beside him to give him a toothy smirk. "Krogan are damn industrious when you crack the whip. Most don't give a damn about anyone else, but… Reapers'll come knocking anyway, so they're muling."

"Fair enough."

"Mhm." The Krogan clapped him on the shoulder and jerked his head at the space-port. "You spent a lot of time working?"

"Needed something to do." He shrugged, flicking the warlord a side-eye, "Waiting on you, I mean."

"Smart arse." The Krogan shook his head, "Report came in from Shepard, asked me to let you know."

"Oh…?"

"She and some Turians killed a scout comin' into the system, out at the edge." He said, giving Doe a pointed look and frowning deeply. "No one was hurt. Thing barely managed to scuttle one of the Turian ships."

"You said no one was hurt…"

"Dead isn't hurt." Wrex chuffed, shaking his great head. "And no one died, either. Few broken bones on the Turian ship but that's all. For a Reaper kill, even a scout?"

"A good trade." Even losing the ship's complement would have been decent. They'd gotten lucky… "You have measures in mind?"

"Shepard said if a scout came in through sub-light, inter-system, like that then others will be on the way, too." Wrex answered, "Gonna scatter sensor mines and, you know, normal mines all along that area. Hopefully, they lose a few coming in."

It was a sound plan, and one he'd have suggested - they had no shortage of faulty, useless old ship cores from the debris salvaging, and just as little shortage of useless variants of scrap. And he doubted Wrex was looking for approval or anything. So, ultimately, he just shrugged it off and moved on.

"The Kowloon?"

"We've got a space ready for its construction to start." Wrex nodded, "Figured you'd want to see it, get a real feel for it. And you need to meet the engineer in charge of it."

"He's here?"

"She is, yeah." Wrex nodded, waving for him to follow him into the burgeoning spaceport. "You can meet the drop trainees first, though. Come on."

"Trainees…?"

"That's why you're here." Wrex shrugged, "Isn't it?"

"More or less…" He shrugged, sighing. Teaching wasn't something he was excited to try out. "Fine. Lead on."

Inside, the space-port was coming along well, at least towards the front. The walls were smooth stone, with metal reinforcements every few feet and spider-webbing across the ceiling under Krogan direction, supported by additional columns that ran perfectly down the center of the path. Wires, piping and whatever else were allowed to roam a bit on the ceilings, but the walls and floor were covered in slightly raised, heavily reinforced, stretches of thick, grated metal, under which ran long furrows for water drainage and insulated bundles of surprisingly need cabling and piping. Flourescenet lights had been installed along the ceiling but, casting everything in a warm, yet somehow still sterile. And the doors out to the mostly completed landing pads had huge, rolling, gear-like sealers sent on ridged tracks, like old Earth bank vaults - presumably so the internal sections could all be sealed once all was completed.

But, for all the polish on its defences, it lacked any on its… Anything else, really.

Spots for restrooms and food-servers had been denoted here and there, but aside from a contour in the wall, they were empty. Mounts for informational terminals were on the walls, but lacked the terminals themselves. And while Krogan stood at obvious security points, judging from their spacing and the relative emptiness around them, they lacked more than piles of unassembled furniture and the like.

The rest of the burgeoning settlement, he was sure, was the same way - a work in progress, but functional enough on the outside and where it mattered.

Only a couple of minutes of walking brought them to the edge of the construction, where the wall-panels and floor grating vanished, giving way to unorganized messes of pipes and wires, and workers getting them straightened out. Beyond that, large machines flattening terrain with huge rolling irons while cranes moved stone about were working alongside teams of Krogan with hammers that chipped and beat the stone into final shape, removing edges and loose rock wherever they found it and spraying a kind of nozzle-fed concrete foam in between them. All paused as Wrex lead him meandering through, though, wary of offending their warlord.

Or, from the sneers, hurting his guest.

"They still aren't fans I see…"

"No, they're Krogan." John sighed and Wrex chuffed a short, barking laugh. "Lotta cause not to trust aliens on Tuchanka. Humans are coming along, but… Takes time."

"I suppose." He hummed, "Let's hope the Reapers give it to us."

Shaking his head, the warlord lead him on towards a wide circle of uneven, mostly cleared ground. A handful of Krogan were meandering, sitting and, in one case, shoving each other back and forth and growling at the far end of the circle, where the rubble hadn't been cleared away yet and left a wall eight feet tall made up of fragmented, crumbling concrete, metal and ruins.

The silver-armored one stood as they approached, barking, "Aralakh, attention!"

Wrex huffed as the Krogan fell into a loose line of about seven Krogan, not counting the silver one who stood in front of them and turned to bow his head respectfully. Each of the warriors were armored and armed, carrying a variety of hand cannons, shotguns, assault rifles and even a heavy, blocky looking black rifle with a barbed harpoon tip protruding from the barrel that he let hang by a strap in front of his chest.

"John Doe, Alliance military. Heh, sort of…" Wrex rumbled, flicking a hand at the silver-armored Krogan and smirking. "You know this pup, right?"

It took a moment, and a pang of pain at the back of his head, but he grimaced and nodded, "Grunt."

The Krogan's brow furrowed but he nodded in a stilted, somewhat awkward, sort of greeting and rumbled, "Doe."

Wrex rumbled when John turned back to him, one eye raised behind his visor. And for a moment, they all stood in silence while the warlord seemed to… Appraise him, almost. Finally, he nodded and lumbered forward a half a step.

"Grunt, you told them about what we're going to be putting together?"

"Yes, Chieftain." He nodded, voice sharp and curt, "I briefed the others."

"I thought it was a joke." An old, literally greying, Krogan rumbled through scarred lips. "Falling like that in little cans? Shameful way to go out. No one would be brainless enough to seriously consider it."

"Yeah?" Wrex rumbled, cocking his head. "Odd. Doe's done those jumps before. Right?"

"I have." He nodded, ignoring the way the Krogan huffed disbelievingly. "It offers numerous tactical advantages."

"You don't mean for this pathetic creature to train us!" One of the other warriors snarled, "Garnack would not stand for it!"

"I'm the only one trained in the tactics, equipment and theory related to it." Doe argued quietly, "The advantages are simply too great to ignore for the Alliance, and for the Krogan. Forces dropped in this manner can turn the tides of battles. At least, if the troopers in the pods have the brass enough to try and the brains enough to do."

The words were veiled enough to not be confrontational, but sharp enough the older Krogan bristled and took a step towards him, baring his teeth, "You suggesting something?"

"No." He shrugged, half-turning and letting the arms hanging at his sides tense ever so slightly, one hand brushing over the Phalanx he'd taken to carrying in the Krogan camp. Quietly, he said, "I'm just saying that if you lack either, or both, of these then you should move on."

"Yeah?"

"Drop Troopers are the hardest of the hard." He nodded, aware of every set of eyes on him. And how important it was that he make a good showing of himself if he wanted them to obey him. Actually being an instructor like this, on the ground and direct, had come as something of a surprise, in spite of everything, but…

He wouldn't let the chance, and what it could mean for them all - for Earth - slip through his fingers.

"If you're not that, then there's no shame in it…" He went on, adrenaline starting to bubble in his veins in a familiar way. "I'm sure the Chieftain can find another place for you. Construction?"

The Krogan growled, low in his throat, and Doe slid to the side a bit, granting the Warlord beside him space. If Wrex had any problems with what was happening, what he'd said, he kept it to himself. Instead, he just watched it unfold as John took a long, quiet breath and exhaled through his nose.

"Or maybe…" He muttered, "Radio monitoring is more to your palate?"

The old Krogan snarled and lurched toward him, fist snapping out in a sharp, quick jab that he was already leaping back from as he drew his gun. Two shots cracked the air and caught the Krogan in his thigh, the heavy rounds punching through the light, unshielded armor and out the other side in a spray of gore. It wasn't enough to kill the Krogan - or even really stop it - but it dropped to a knee long enough for him to step to the side and level the handgun on his eye, frowning behind his visor.

"Brass, yes." He grunted, eyeing the other Krogan warily and adding. "Brain, no. Both are important to a Trooper. As is the humility not to swing at an officer for mild sass."

"Hrmph."

"Wrex?" He grunted, "Your orders?"

"I'm just watching." The warlord grunted, "You're the trainer here."

He took a breath and turned to the Krogan, kneeling and pressing the gun to the side of his head, behind his crest where borrowed memories told him there was a soft spot. Quietly, he asked, "Do I need to shoot you, or do you have what it takes to be a Trooper?"

After a long, quiet moment, the Krogan growled and sighed, "I have what it takes."

"Good." He dropped the gun and stood, backing away and turning to the other Krogan. Pointing at each of them he said, "And all of you have a lot to learn about being a team. Shooting your instructor is a no go, but none of you even moved more than an inch."

They traded looks and Wrex's laugh broke them out of their silence as a shuttle came to land a few dozen feet away. Shaking his great head, he said, "Come on, then. To the docks above."

He gave the Krogan a last look, then shrugged and asked, "And them?"

"Ideas?"

"Help clear rubble." He grunted, painting at each of them and then the wounded Krogan and adding. "And get him to medical, too. I know Krogan regenerate, but I want it certain that he's back up and running."

"Understood." Grunt rumbled, grabbing another Krogan by the arm and having him help the wounded one up. Without turning, he barked, "Come on, whelps. We've work to do."

He watched them go before he stepped into the Kodiak and flicked Wrex a look as it lifted off. "I wasn't too hard on him, was I?"

"Maybe shoot them less." Wrex shrugged, "Otherwise? Krogan respect strength and grit. You did good."

He nodded and took a seat, closing his eyes as they transitioned to space.

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Orbit around Tuchanka was… Still a mess, but a more ordered one than when John had first arrived. Dozens of smaller ships flitted about between ruined ships, stations, and satellites, disassembling them all and forming huge space-borne piles in relatively stable orbiting patterns around the planet. Larger ships, mainly old, blocky freighters and damaged old warships they'd managed to get working well enough to act as larger tugs, pulling away sun-irradiated hulks, useless scrap and whatever else to a spot where a cluster of ships and workers were piecing together… Something.

Probably bombs, knowing Wrex's people.

But rather than there, they angled toward a gangly shipyard serving of sorts a few hundred kilometers away from any of the work clusters around it. It had a large central structure a few hundred feet long but maybe twenty wide at best, with huge squares built out of the same simplistic hab units with exterior space-walk panels running along the inside where Krogan, Human and even a handful of Turians he could spot plodded along, working on dozens of ships in the dozens of cube-shaped docks. Tugs flitted around them, moving damaged Turian ships into place alongside old freighters, modified ships with mercenary markings and even older, half-intact, warships being stripped and refitted for Krogan reuse. A half dozen sleek, winged fighters took up one entire bay for themselves, where more Turians were working than anywhere else on what he presumed was a Turian fighter wing, with pieces missing in some places or being pulled away in others.

"There we are." Wrex growled, pointing a finger out the viewport John was looking out of. "Dock eleven."

When they'd seen the blueprints, he'd already had a handful of notes to offer to the engineers apparently seeking his input. So the work on the old Kowloon was already under way.

A dozen separate modules floated around the long central corridor of the ship, with a new, broad and rectangular cockpit at the front topped by a glass-domed gunner seat that looked like an Old Earth bomber's support node had been ripped out and shoved into place. The engines had been replaced as well with two large, blocky engines set at the exact rear of the spine, with a large block in between them and a compartment in front of it that connected it to the spine and served as engineering and the Eezo core housing.

A hundred feet or so below the waiting frame was what looked to be four separate modules retrofitted together into one larger one, with panels of metal floating around most of the sides while the electricals were redone and a pair of reinforced doors at the bottom, floating in space while metal was moved out of the way.

Rather than dock anywhere, the Kodiak simply… Came to a stop in dead space a hundred feet or so from the large module being worked on. Wrex pulled on a helmet while John checked his enviro-seals and sighed, "You know, I don't have maneuevering gear…"

"I do." He turned and Wrex flushed Biotic blue, chuckling darkly through his mask's audio filter. A small icon appeared over the Krogan's head and John blinked twice rapidly, and the next works crackled in his ear. "I'm just getting us to the box over there. Can't take the Kodiak in, too much crap in the way."

"Barriers?"

"Why burn the Eezo when I can do the same without?"

"...Fair." He sighed, shaking his head. "I need to get manuevering thrusters put into my kit…"

"Boots and gloves." Wrex suggested, "Shepard swears by that style."

"I suppose…" He shrugged, rapping his chestplate habitually - it was an old visual signal of readiness he scarcely remembered even learning - and said, "I'm ready. Don't throw me into the sun, alright?"

"Nah, nah. You'd starve before you got there." Wrex's laugh rumbled in his ears, "I'd throw you into Tuchanka's atmosphere. Much nicer, that."

"Uh huh…"

As always, the weightlessness that hit him with zero-g made his stomach pitch and churn. Anxiety not his own welled up in the back of his mind, muted by his own mind and logic - and Liara's protection - but not so muted he didn't feel it. That his heart rate didn't spike a bit, before Wrex's Biotics lit up around him and pitched him forward, toward a trio of Alliance soldiers with blocky packs, gloves and boots arraying themselves in a little triangle ahead of them, just in front of the open side of the large module. He spread his arms to either side as the Krogan followed him, turning him with his Biotics so that two of the soldiers could catch him.

The same circles appeared on his HUD as he looked between them, blinking twice to accept the comm-connectio request, and one of the men grunted, "Specialist?"

"Ears on." He nodded, "Turning?"

"Yep." He nodded as the women from belore drifted up behind him to greet Wrex, and then turned to grab John's shoulders.

The ODST pulled his arms in and across his chest in a traditional exo-rescue manuever that translated well enough to the Alliance maneuevers and the woman turned him on the spot. The woman behind him didn't release him at all, keeping her hands on his shoulder so he couldn't leave her control, and instead moved a leg over to fire a light thruster on her boot, turning them slowly until she gently collided with one of the other two, who let her push him in between her and the third soldier, the three straightening him so he was facing Wrex and keeping a hold on his shoulders and hips. Now they were all behind him, they turned again, back towards the module, and propelled them all towards it with the Krogan in hand.

"We have grav." One of the soldiers warned him as they approached the open edge, "Transition in one… Two…"

'Three' was just their arrival, and Doe let them push him in and grunted as he regained his balance and turned, backing up a few steps as they came in and landed. Another circle lit up, this one from the woman, and he accepted it, too, expanding their network of comms.

"You do space walks a lot?" He could hear the smile in the woman's voice, though there wasn't any mockery there. He nodded and she chuckled, "You need better gear, then."

"I know." He shrugged, "It's on the list."

"Right." Behind her, a bright blue shield suddenly bloomed into place and she hummed, pressing a button on her helmet as atmospheric pressurizers kicked on and filled the room with air. Speaking normally now, without the comm-line she'd just muted, she said, "Engineers are getting ready to do some work they need air for. Some of the adhesives do better that way."

"Mhm." The hypoxies they were using on the ground were like that, and he was sure some would be used up here, too. Supply lines were already tightening, he knew - it was why so much of what was being done here was being done with salvage - and everyone knew it would get tighter, so it only made sense.

"He doesn't talk much." The woman observed, flicking Wrex a look.

"He does when he needs to." The Krogan shrugged, "Otherwise? Yeah, he's a bit quiet."

"Efficient." He corrected, earning a wry chuckle from the warlord.

"Uh huh." Wrex rumbled, "If you say so."

"Come on." The woman chuckled quietly, waving him away from the environmental shield. "Chief engineer wants your input, Specialist."

Inside, the unit was still somewhat bare, but all of its interior panels and, presumably, its internal systems were in place. In the center, dominating much of the space, was a large assembly of what looked like factory claws, with two long prongs to either side hanging down from an overhead pylon connected to a series of walkways fitted with lockers. Each one held one of the long, sleek-bodied drop pods kept in place by mass-effect holsters fitted all along the claws. The assembly was secured to the ceiling by a long, double-jointed arm attached to the ceiling by a huge ball-joint.

It was all crude, and obviously so, but it all seemed functional.

Several of the pods had panels removed and technicians working at them, fitting in components and encasing them in shock-absorbing gels while a couple of other soldiers oversaw drones holding up huge panels of metal for technicians to hypoxy in place, and then weld over - presumably only done in that order to avoid any unintended damage to the internals.

'Disposable' didn't equate to 'worthless after all, and a damaged pod would cost money - or a life, if it dropped like that.

A thin woman in a fully enclosed and padded, but only lightly armored, suit was looking over the closest one with a wide tablet in hand and a drone beside her. She turned as he and Wrex were waved towards her, though, and, after a glance to verify the atmospheric shields were up, she pressed a button that raised her visor and let it slide up and over the top of her head.

She was thinly built, as he'd already noticed, and that reached her face. Pale caramel skin, with bags under her eyes, screamed of hours spent in space working up here. And her hair lay limp, mated to the side of her head, which spoke to the same. She was obviously of Asian descent, to, but the French name struck him as odd in light of that. He ignored it, though, depolarizing his visor completely rather than removing his helmet.

She could reseal hers in seconds, after all, while he had to get his back on and pressurized over nearly twelve seconds - long enough for depressurization to be hazardous, if something happened to the shield.

"Specialist Advisor Doe?" He had only read the unique, special rank he'd been given to explain his power in designing the pods and training the Krogan once, but he recognized it. When he nodded and she offered him a swift salute and then her hand when he returned the gesture, which he shook and explained, "Technician Specialist Eclair. I'm told we have you to thank for this?"

"Mhm." He nodded, flicking Wrex a look when he rumbled amusedly. Sighing, he asked, "How goes the work?"

"Long, hard, and annoying in places…" She sighed, "But progressing well enough."

"I'm glad to hear it." He nodded, "The pods are ready then?"

"Only one is finished." She stressed, turning and waving for the two of them to follow her up the stairs and onto the walkway bolted onto structure of the manipulator. "With space so tight, we've had to build the lockers and walkways right onto the drop-arm. So you'll have to ensure you take all your gear or seal the lockers before drop."

"The claw reaches out into space then?" He'd assumed so - the arm was far larger than needed otherwise - but certainty saved lives.

"Not always, but… Generally, yes. Hence the name, 'Longarm Pod'." Eclair answered as they made their way down the furthest left walkway to where the lockers rested. They had holsters inside for weapons, armor, and whatever else. Gesturing at the open side of the pod, she said, "One boards and straps in, then the pod spins for the second."

"That would cause a time delay."

"Potentially, but having partners was decided to outweigh that weakness." The technician shrugged, "Also, as development continues, we hope to have launch bays that hold the pod nose-down, so both sides can board at the same time. They want the pods tested first, though, before we retrofit frigates to carry them. Or more likely build a new line…"

"Understandable." He gestured at the seat, "May I?"

"Of course." She nodded, "I'll close the pod so you get the full experience for review. Alright?"

"Mhm."

With her permission, he climbed in and reclined in the sloped seat. To either side were arms for the chair, ensconced vaguely into the sides, presumably to add continuity and strength to the structure. There were rows of buttons at where his fingers rested on both sides, with a round protrusion that stuck out into the center a bit where two controller sticks had been installed. As the glass roof came down and sealed with an atmospheric hiss, the glass darkened for a moment, polarizing like his visor could, before it lightened again. Now, it was covered in analytics. Atmospheric readouts, directional readouts, and a spot directly above him with six slots for, presumably, a squad he didn't have.

That was proven to be the case when two spinning circles bloomed and resolved, Eclair and Wrex's faces both popping up alongside a vitals monitoring system.

"All systems seem to be running perfectly, as diagnostics suggested." The technician said, "I'm projecting information onto your feed. How is it on your end?"

"Clear." He answered, flicking an eye at the alert markings popping up in Wrex's windows. Heart rate, blood pressure, breathing - everything was pinging. Frowning, he said, "Needs to be tuned to recognize other races."

"Noted." She answered, "Anything else?"

"I don't see emergency release systems."

"Press the green button closest to your right-hand control jockey." He did and a dozen little panels along the inside of the roof lit up. "Charges are primed, but require you to press the red button below it. Green again to de-prime the charges."

"Understood." He nodded, pressing the button and grunting. "Charge-panels aren't lit up anymore."

"That means they're passive." She answered, "The buttons on the other side are matching. If, for whatever reason, the corresponding buttons work on neither side you can also press them all in and that will trigger their priming on a five second wait. The charges are shaped, so you should be safe inside when they go off."

"Impressive." The safeties were in place, the readouts were well-placed along his vision, and the seat held him secure, with harnesses he hadn't touched simply because he wasn't launching. Eyeing the barrier readout, he said, "How good are the defenses? This pod is larger than I suggested."

"The entire thing is lightly shielded, with a powerful barrier covering the nose." She answered, "There are systems in place for the occupants to manage it as they like, however, so they could disperse the barrier more widely than designed. These are tied to the keys on your console, alongside the charge armers. I'll have a dossier for you when you leave."

"Good." He nodded, "What about GARDIAN systems?"

"The nose specifically has layered armor with ten spaces of around one tenth of an inch, to prevent immediate failure if struck." She answered in the same clipped, clean way she had so far, "The entire craft is the same way. However, the nose is made of a special armor designed to redirect energy, dispersing some of the heat entirely and another modicum across a wider area, delaying the destruction of each layer of armor. This doubles as useful should barriers fail and the nose be exposed to direct reentry."

"Entry speeds?"

"Approximately one thousand KPH." She answered, "The Mass Effect systems in play ensure survivability up to eleven hundred KPH, though with injuries. However, the emergency braking systems, designed to deploy in the last five hundred feet, are quite powerful."

"What's the landing speed aimed for?"

"Four hundred KPH, well within the inertial dampeners safety ranger." She answered, "The engine can also be ejected and an emergency panel deployed to further slow a craft experiencing failure."

The same as in his pod, no doubt…

"Excellent work." At least, barring any failures that could crop up in the testing phase. "How many test models have been cleared?"

"Six." She answered, "So, twelve pilots can be tested."

"Hm…" He'd have preferred more, to fully test everything, but with the war on they couldn't afford it. Instead of arguing, he asked, "When can we begin testing?"

"Three days from now." She answered, "The pods and launcher will be done by then and while the modified Kowloon won't be, we can test deployments on Tuchanka with just the engines, cockpit and launch module installed."

"Excellent." He nodded, adding as the seals hissed and the roof retracted, its feed blinking out as it went, "Wrex?"

"Yeah?"

"We have two days to get your Krogan ready." He grunted, letting a pair of soldiers that had come over to join the technician help him out of the pod - clearly, the assembly hadn't been made to get back out of in the ship.

"Yeah, that'll be fun…" The warlord sighed, shaking his armored head, "But, hey, at least dropping will be excited. Eh?"

"You're coming?"

"My planet, my Krogan." He shrugged, "Try and stop me."

John just sighed, shrugged, and nodded, "Fine. Try not to die, though."

The warlord just rumbled a laugh.

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Whoo! Decided to do a double feature because I was sad and writing makes me have less of a sad.

My job has, for the FIFTH TIME, given me a full time schedule and then cut my hours back down again. Hence the sadness. Hope you all enjoy the story regardless, and forgive the length and descriptions - design work is my favorite and I kinda fell into it a bit more than intended at the outset lmao.

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