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Requested by : Laurel

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Forty nine times.

That was how many times, over the length of time they and their contingent had occupied 'Earth' that they had detected the strange signal. It originated from some point near the small orbital body, Luna according to the Human dictionaries they had accessed, but, pointedly, not from the body itself. Rather the signal originated at a variable point between four to one hundred kilometers from the orbital body's surface, at one of fifteen points around it. Further, it seemed almost quantum in nature, vanishing when the Reaper forces orbiting the moon and monitoring Alliance constructions on it - and searching for more of the hidden bunkers that dotted its surface - began to pay closer attention to those regions.

Only to reappear and resume activity when they looked away, citing it as errant signal traffic, or an anomaly from the Earth's extended atmospheric discharge.

A fiftieth broadcast caught their attention, and confirmed a suspicion - the broadcasts were directed on the same trajectory. Roughly - for trying to triangulate too closely caused the signals to halt - in the same direction. But no known systems that were inhabited existed in that direction. The only thing that was would be a galaxy so far away the signal, at its rate of dispersal, would break up into nothing prior to reaching it. Prior to the halfway point, even.

"Continent designation - South America, status update." A report stole their attention, "Status - cleansed. Deploying environmental clean-up units and beginning eradication of larger settlements."

"Acknowledged." Harbinger responded, turning their attention back to London, burning below them.

Even then, though, they were… Distracted. Anomalies were not unique to this system, and they knew that, logically. But anomalies were almost uniformly dangerous to the stability of the system that kept life flourishing in this galaxy. And this one laid something approaching what a lesser would call anxiety in them. But it would have to wait, for now, until they had finished over-seeing this great harvest…

There would always be time.

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The launch bay was wide and open, by Krogan standards at least, with rounded sides all around. Six massive reinforcing 'ribs' stretched around the entire space, reinforcing it. The front of the room was lined by long tracks where the drop pods were waiting for them, swarmed by Turian engineers running final checks on the new, single-occupant models they were using for this. A walkway ran across the middle of the room, with control-terminals and feeding systems holding more pods for more drops that ran up into the ceiling. The back of the room was lined by lockers wide enough for them to use, with barely used work benches right across from them for Wrat and his teammates to work at, tinkering on their weapons while he loaded a belt of old-fashioned grenades.

"Bets on them rigging our pods to blow…?" Krenet rumbled, closing the ammo-block assembly of his Mattock and flicking his nose at a Turian who caught him staring.

The Turian looked away first, of course.

"We're going down there to save their planet." Wrat grunted, looking over at the blue-eyed, green-skinned Krogan with a sigh. They were almost twins, aside from Wrat's red eyes, born of the same clutch of eggs. "Be stupid of 'em to try anything right now. Wouldn't it?"

"To be fair," their third umbled quietly, "they are Turians. The skinny scaly ones are the ones with brains."

"Shut it, Frenk." Wrat sighed. Frenk was their youngest, a whelp with bright orange eyes and smooth red skin. Shaking his head, he turned back to his own Mattock and rumbled, "They died on Tuchanka for us. Now we're paying it back. They don't have a reason to stab us in the back."

"At least, not one that wouldn't have applied on Tuchanka, too." Krenet admitted with a sigh, "Fair."

"I guess." Frenk sighed, "Just don't ask me to trust 'em after we save their sorry asses."

"No one is asking you for anything, whelp." Krenet grunted, "Least of all saving anyone. SO shut it."

"Big words, old man." Frenk snarled, "But I don't see you making me do a damn thing."

"Frenk…"

Wrat just sighed and cast a look skywards as the younger Krogan rounded on his kinsman and snarled a low challenge. It wasn't the first time the two had started an argument. And wouldn't even be the first time it came to blows, if he let it. He was still halfway to deciding, and they were halfway to brawling, when a siren barked twice. They turned as one of the Turians leaned against the railing.

"We're moving towards the Relay into the Trebia system!" The Turian called out, "Launch could be any time!"

"And our battlemaster is still a no-show." Frenk barked a laugh, turning and shaking his head. "What a pathetic-"

"I'm right here." Wrat turned, looking up at the man that had called out the words. He was standing at the edge of the pod he'd just climbed out of, dark hood pooled around the bottom of his helmet. He flicked each of them a look and shook his head. "What are you doing? Fighting amongst yourselves? You must want Tuchanka to burn."

"The hell are you to-"

"Because," their battlemaster barked, straightening and turning to point ahead of them as the ship shuddered around them, indicating their Relay jump into Trebia, "the Reapers are our only targets right now. All your nonsense only helps them. And when we fail because of you, where do you think they go next?"

Frenk growled, but didn't say anything. None of them did, ducking their heads ever so slightly out of respect. What could they even say? His logic was undeniable.

"Good." He finally snapped, "Now get your gear. Take your seats. And get set for a combat drop!"

"Yes, Battlemaster." He rumbled lowly, turning to grab his new helmet with its curved top-plate and segmented visor.

It had been modelled after the Battlemaster's own, with a 'One' stenciled on the side in dark orange paint. Pulling it on, he turned as the other two did the same, pulling large, curved pieces of black armor out of their lockers to strap onto their shoulders. He wrapped his bandolier of explosives around his chest and turned to grab the little hardcase pack out next, resting it across the back of his waist while the others did the same. It was strange, turning and seeing them all in near-uniform black armor, carrying the same rifles and with blocky Phalanx pistols in the same spots on their thighs.

But, strangely, it felt…

Comforting, somehow.

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The new pods were slimmer and sleeker than the test-beds he'd ridden in before, with a more pronounced curve inward just in front of the seat. It still had a wide forward segment, of course, to eat the landing. But it was shorter now, with internalized breaking-maneuvering thrusters built in equidistant points around its nose and a vaguely winged rear end, with four three inch fringes protruding out just a couple feet behind his seat. Inside, the reinforced glass looked like a down-sized fighter cockpit had been shoved into it, but it still had the vid-feed monitor system built into it, connected to the rest of his unit's pods wirelessly via the ship's own internal broadcast systems.

One of his favorite features, which he was employing now.

"We are currently engaged here." He said, marking a point around three hundred thousand kilometers away from the Relay, on a curved trajectory around towards Menae. Next he marked the three Coalition fleets, and the Turian Home Fleet, engaging at points scattered all through space from the Relay to just shy of the moon. "Allied forces are already engaging Reaper forces, trying to clear space near the Relay and towards Menae. Once we have a launch-vector for our designated landing region, we will be deployed in a wide-spectrum launch."

"Meaning?" Wrat, the seemingly more level-headed of the Krogan, asked over the comm-line.

"Meaning we will launch and disperse in a wide formation to avoid being collectively destroyed, and then land as near to each other as feasible." He explained, projecting a map of the region they were hoping to land at. They were the same highlands he and Garrus had fought at months and months ago, still partially under Turian control by some miracle. He highlighted the lower, southern stretches and explained. "This plateau-chain is our primary objective. Around eighty percent of it has fallen partially or wholly into Reaper hands, and we need to disrupt their defenses to allow standard-unit combat drops."

"Just disrupt…?"

"Thirty Krogan and one ODST scattered across several kilometers are not enough to shake the Reapers loose, Frenk." He sighed, "Not on their own."

"Hmph…"

"Our chosen region is this one." He finished, ignoring the young Krogan - which felt like an odd thought, considering he was eighty - as he lit up the sectors closest to the still-held areas. "Turian forces in the area transmit intermittently, but with their intel, we can hit nearby hard-points and establish forward perimeters. Secondary forces will task to the other end of the plateaus, aiming to disrupt air-control."

"And let reinforcements come running…"

"Essentially." John nodded, "Yes."

"Sounds like a plan, then." Wrat grunted lowly, "When do we leave?"

"When we're told."

"But we're already in the pods…"

"Yes, Frenk, we are." He nodded, "If you read your briefing, I instructed you to bring something to eat and read while we waited."

"Yeah, Frenk." Wray rumbled lowly, a laugh echoing in his words. "Don't tell us you didn't read the briefing…"

"The Extranet will do-"

"Nothing, because it's off-limits. We can't risk outbound signals being traced, or inbound ones being tacked onto." John cut the Krogan off, sighing and forwarding him a large file of history-based novels, some music Shepard had sent him, and an 'anime' she swore by. "Shepard has spent a week trying to get me to watch Cowboy Bebop, and you have time. Otherwise, pick your poison."

"...I guess I can rewatch."

"You've watched human shows, Frenk?"

"I was born on Ilium, Doe, of course I've watched human shows!" The young Krogan snarled, though it sounded more like he was snarling at the question than anything. "There's not shit to do, other than the Asari, and the humans coming in had the damn entertainment industry in a quad-hold for twenty years. Especially them… Japan-imes, I think Sheilna called 'em."

"Yeah, I bet they do well on Illium…" Wrat grumbled, "Organize a watch party later, whelp."

"Heh." The Krogan grunted, "Maybe I will."

He rolled his eyes and tuned the Krogan out when he heard a rap on the outside of his cockpit and turned, punching the slide button. Beau was waiting for him, smiling under baggy eyes and offering him a little sealed tray. It wasn't anything special, just a ration-tin from the mess, but he nodded his thanks and pulled his helmet off anyway.

"It isn't much, but it's hot." She muttered, taking a seat at the edge of his pod and watching another technician walk by. "I doubt you'll get anything hot down there."

"Not the good kind of heat, no." He chuckled, holding up one of the two long, thin sticks of bread. She hesitated but when he only waited, she took it and he went on. "What are you doing here anyway?"

"On the ship, here?" She asked, cocking her head, "Or talking to you, here?"

"Yes."

"I was on the fleet already, getting bounced around as always. You know how it is." He shrugged and nodded and she went on, "I was on a different ship, but… Well, I transferred."

"Why?"

"Dunno." She shrugged, "Guess I figured I'd at least know someone here."

"Fair."

"Yeah…" They were quiet for a moment, until she tapped his shoulder and stood, smiling. "I'm glad you didn't die back there."

"It'll take more than that, Doe."

"Evidently." She chuckled, "Anyway, I didn't just come to chat…"

"No?"

"No." She shook her head, "New info j-just came down- The Turian holdouts on M-Menae have gone dark. No one has h-heard of them for three days, apparently, and none of the open c-channels are responding."

"I'm surprised they had open channels…" He sighed, "What's the change of plan?"

"There i-isn't one."

"Of course not…" Now they were making a blind drop into enemy territory to support forces that were very possibly already dead… It had all the makings of a washout mission. And not one with an easy extract, either. Sighing, he said, "Well… At least my last meal will be meatloaf."

"D-Don't joke like that…" Beau snapped sharply, shaking her head. "W-Why would you even say that?"

"Gallows humor." He chuckled, "Trooper thing. You wouldn't understand."

"I guess n-not…" An alarm cut off whatever else she was going to say and startled her at the same time, badly enough she fumbled the last third of her breadstick and dropped it. Shaking her head, she turned and said, "T-They're launching you."

"Yep." He nodded, shoving the half-closed tin of leftovers past her feet and rolling his shoulders. "Wish us luck."

"Y-Yeah…" He slid his helmet on and felt a hand on it, turning him just enough to stare up at Beau's neck as she leaned into the pod. A moment passed before he realised she was pressing a kiss to the crown of his helmet, and then she withdrew and, blinking, he watched her turn and scuttle off through the glass of his pod.

"What was…"

"Well." Wrat rumbled, "I believe you asked her to wish you luck."

He rolled his eyes and ignored the laughter from the other two.

A harsh tremor rocked the ship, and cut off the laughter like a knife through bread. Seconds passed before a harsh Krogan voice barked, "Launching - hold onto your asses, Pyjaks!"

Gravity yanked him back as his rockets fired, a few moments before the Eezo-engine of his pod kicked in and his inertia stabilised. Just in time for him to jerk his pod out of the way of an Oculus drone, whizzing by with a blocky Krogan gunship trailing along behind it, launching missiles from a blocky pack on its spine. He steered clear of it and down, before another Drone raked fire across his front, his Barriers sparking and flaring, but holding just long enough for him to jerk aside.

"Cover the pods!" The same harsh, Krogan voice barked in his ear, broadcasting openly. "Get 'em through!"

Another Krogan gunship pulled past him, firing missiles ahead of his pod while the signatures from his other team-mates - and more drop-groups beside - spread out throughout the skirmish-zone. Behind him, the heavy Krogan warships were advancing, and when he looked up he could see heavy torpedoes arcing through a scant field of Oculus fighters, Turian interceptors, and Krogan gunships on their way towards a single Reaper destroyer whose deadly lanced of fire carved through it all.

Something behind them exploded…

He hoped it wasn't the ship he'd just left.

"Form up!" He barked as they passed the destroyer and curved in, towards the moon. "Landing in three minutes and count-"

"Human, on your-"

Wrat's words died in a wash of static as his pod was wrenched to the side, alarms blaring as it spun. Checking its status, he'd lost half his rear engines and fired the forward trying to accommodate and slow his spinning. Which worked, mostly. But all that gave him was a view of Menae, far off the course he needed to be on, and the Oculus that had hit him circling back and coming for him.

"Come on, then." He grit his teeth, angling to meet it head-on, mass to mass, "Let's dance."

A missile caught the Oculus halfway to him and he sailed through the scattering debris, turning as a Turian fighter arced past him and around, back towards the fight.

"Human!" Wrat barked, "Are you alive?"

"I am, but I've lost half my thrusters." He answered, forcing his pod back towards Menae. "Follow your landing trajectory. I'll link up when I can."

"But-"

"Do it, Wrat." He snapped, gauging his landing zone on his display as the systems calculated his angle and approach. "Worst case, I'm a couple dozen Ks away. Hopefully, less. Either way, the moon is the priority. Get it done, Trooper."

"Yes." Wrat rumbled, "As you say, Battlemaster… For Tuchanka."

"For home." He nodded, turning his attention back to his LADAR-RADAR and frowning. "As long as no one else gets uppity…"

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Splash :

Actually I'm already diversifying the pod designs, as showcased here. This model is a smaller, single occupant one with more manueverability. Specifically being used here because they want to be able to duck fighters. Other missions will use other pods, as needed and as they're developed.

Predator :

ABout Beau… XD

Also, yeah, capes aren't SUPER practical. But wearing it is status.