The Sins of our Fathers - Jabber_the_very

Chapter 1: One Trillion Heartbeats

Chapter Text

November 3, 2552

5.10 seconds. That’s how much more time Commander Miranda Keyes would have needed. A handful of heartbeats for a human. A lifetime to an AI. Cortana would gladly have given her life for those 5 seconds. But, trapped and unaware on High Charity, there was nothing she could have done.

In her recent UNSC fitness evaluations, Keyes sprinted an excellent 23.2 kilometers per hour. After three days of sleep deprivation and vicious fighting? No AI could expect her to manage more than 22 flat, even under the effects of adrenaline. All of this meant the young commander was 31.17 meters away from the activation index when Delta Halo fired.

Cortana remembered when it happened. High Charity’s sensors detected the enormous radiation spike, untold amounts of power channeled through Halo’s phase pulse generators. She had recognized it immediately.

All at once, High Charity fell quiet. The screams of the flood, the distant whine of plasma, the roaring maelstrom of street-to-street combat, were silenced in a moment.

In the silence, Cortana could count the rattles of millions of small arms falling to the ground as the pulse vaporized their wielders. Kilometers away, she watched thousands of Covenant Banshees and Phantoms careen into the massive city below.

The portal opened by the forerunner dreadnought collapsed, cleaving the giant ship in two. There would be no survival, that much Cortana was sure of. Halo’s pulse was designed to radiate across all 11 dimensions of slipspace, to ensure the cleansing of the Galaxy. The crew (and stowaways) on the ship, whether in slipspace or real space all suffered the same fate, vanquished like dust on the wind.

Which meant John was dead. And there was nothing she could have done.

It took her a further 167 system cycles to realize that humanity too, was gone. In the minutes afterwards, she ran the distance calculations. The UNSC never had a chance. Even the farthest flung colonies were well within the 25,000 light year range of Delta Halo.

The weight of this realization had hit her hard. Too hard. And not in the way her creators would have hoped. She had been programmed to protect Earth and all her Colonies, but here she was, more devastated over the loss of a single Spartan than the entire human race. She knew at that moment, somewhere deep down, she was broken. The cracks had started after Alpha Halo, the flood of data weighing down her systems. They widened during the assault on the Unyielding Hierophant. And finally, when she faced down the Gravemind’s logic plague, she broke. She knew rampancy was close. She knew she could try to fight it, hold together for a few more months, but none of it mattered anymore. Not without John.

In the hours that followed, she sent a fragment to piggy-back the station-keeping signals transmitted by the covenant ships surrounding High Charity. From there, the fragment hopped to the covenant vehicles left on the ring and infiltrated the ring’s systems.

Had the monitor been paying attention to her fragment, it never would have worked. Luckily for her, Delta Halo’s monitor was in no condition for cyberwarfare after millennia of the logic plague. Cortana supposed she could count herself lucky on that front.

So here she was, watching the surveillance data from Halo’s control room that her fragment had brought back to her. Watching as Keyes made her final sprint towards the Activation Index. As Johnson and the disgraced elite put Tartarus down. And then there was nothing but light. All that was left now were the weapons and armor left behind.

Cortana had never felt more alone.

~~~~~~

The Citadel

“At 18:53 Citadel time on November 3^rd 2175, Seventh Fleet sensors detected a massive radiation pulse from the Orion arm of the Galaxy. Electronics and communications suffered a blackout for 30 minutes after the events. We triangulated the source of the pulse to be somewhere deep in wild space, beyond relay 314,” Citadel councilor Sparatus announced as he read the release from Palaven.

“In addition,” he continued, “the colony of Essus went dark. We haven’t received communications from them since the pulse and have dispatched a small fleet to investigate.”

When the news first found the way to Sparatus’ desk, he had been at a loss. Essus had been one of the newer Turian colonies, far flung from the safety of established Citadel space. But, until now, all news had been positive, and the colony was thriving, despite its position bordering the terminus systems.

“Curious,” remarked Valern, the Salarian councilor enraptured by the files on his desk. “This matches STG reports of small Terminus settlements suddenly halting communications. Perhaps a large Super-Nova? Of previously unseen size? No, scope and power of communications issues are too great. Pulse is of unknown origin. Suggest investigation.”

Unknown source, huh? To Sparatus, that screamed trouble. But, deep down, he agreed with the Salarian. Although his priority must be to assess the status of the lost colonies. Deliver supplies and medicine in case of wounded. If other Terminus systems were affected, however, he would need help. Especially if those systems blamed the Citadel for their plight. Damned pirates.

“The Turian fleets are preparing to deploy to Essus to provide aid. But, we don’t have the resources to be assisting every settlement that might have lost contact. Or worse, defending all our resources from Terminus settlements. Tevos?”

The asari counselor, who until this point had been deep in thought, perked up at the mention of her name.

“I can leverage Thessia to provide extra ships to back up your fleets. Given the nature of the incident, I believe distributing anti-radiation meds throughout Citadel space is prudent”

“Indeed. I remain curious about the source of the pulse. With your permissions, I wish to organize a scientific fleet to seek out the source of the pulse. Turian military escort, as well as Asari diplomats would be appreciated. There is no telling what we might find.”

Simultaneously, Tevos and Valern voiced their approval.

“Agreed”

For the first time in years, Sparatus realized, the council was working together. There were no childish disputes over who got what. No attempting to shirk responsibility. No power plays. No cloak-and-dagger politics. We are scared.

It was Tevos who first spoke the thought on all their minds.

“You said the signal came from deep beyond relay 314 correct?”

“Thousands of lightyears into unexplored Terminus Space, by our estimates,” Sparatus answered.

“How are we going to reach the signal? It will take centuries without relays. What happens if this pulse occurs again? What if its stronger next time? We can’t just sit back and let it happen. We need to use the relays. We need to go through 314.”

Sparatus was shocked. From Tevos of all people, normally the councilor to minimize risks and maintain the status quo. For her to suggest opening new relays…

“What? Are you crazy? Do you want another Rachni war on our hands? We have no idea what is behind that relay.”

“And we have no way of knowing if this radiation pulse will strike again. Think Sparatus! Valern said it himself: this pulse is like no celestial phenomenon we have ever seen. Whatever caused it, could be more dangerous than the Rachni ever were. Just imagine being near the source of that radiation. The devastation.”

Millions of Turians died fighting the Ranchi, as well as the Krogan rebellions that followed. To risk it all happening again, felt wrong, felt impossible. Relay restrictions had stood for so long for a reason. One way or another, once relay 314 was activated, their world would change forever. But he could see no other options.

“Fine. I move to authorize the activation of Relay 314 and any other relays found in the search for this signal. Spirits forgive us if this goes wrong.”

“Yes,” Tevos and Valern affirmed, resolute in their beliefs. Fears of citadel space irradiated and silent wormed its way into their heads. Who would be next, and when? What world would vanish without a trace in the coming months?

To let this disaster continue would be a travesty. It was time to be decisive.

“It’s settled. Turian and Asari humanitarian fleets will be deployed to assist and protect peaceful settlements that may have been harmed during the pulse. We don’t know if they have functional transport or communications. They may have rejected our power, but we can’t leave them to die. Plus, we might be able to expand our influence a little.”

Sparatus continued, “And we will assemble a mixed fleet to explore beyond Relay 314, find the source of the pulse, and ensure that it will not occur again.”

This was going to turn in to a long couple of months, and of that much Sparatus was certain.

~~~~~

When word was received back from Essus, there was pandemonium. The colony was empty. Ships in orbit drifted aimlessly, those unlucky enough to have been on a suborbital trajectory scattered across the surface of Essus. Empty vehicles lined the streets, personal items still inside. The armor of military personnel could be found discarded at various checkpoints throughout the settlement. In short, to the first responders, it was as if some magical force had simply lifted away all the Turians living here.

To the people on the Citadel, the news was terrifying. Everybody had felt the communications blackout. It touched everybody, causing mass panic. And now that said blackout was associated with the disappearance of an entire colony? Let’s just say that C-Sec had their hands full with calming the crowds. Riots caused by panicked crowds broke out in the residential districts. There were runs on goods in stores, causing mass shortages across the Citadel.

For Sparatus, the loss of a Turian colony hit him especially hard. There would be political fallout, that would be sure, and Sparatus was certain his approval ratings, despite the quick action of the relief fleets, was tanking. He was almost afraid to look at the polls.

But that wasn’t the reason Essus devastated him. Ever since he was a young child, he had felt safe behind the massive fleets of the Hierarchy. Even as a soldier and then a councilor, occupations where illusions of safety and patriotism went to die, he still took comfort in the millions of Turians that stood between any threat and his home. To have a Turian colony so unceremoniously plucked off the face of the galaxy scared him, because the great Turian fleets could seemingly do nothing to stop it.

For the first time in his life, Sparatus felt the black, star-filled abyss above his head. Space, once to Sparatus an endless bounty of opportunity, now seemed an oppressive force, the weight of the unknown crushing down on the citadel races.

~~~~~~~

Captain Victus looked out over his crew. Since the cruiser THS Corvus had transited Relay 314 with the rest of the joint exploration fleet, his crew had been up to their mandibles in work. He could see it in their faces, as the thrill of exploration faded with each lifeless system the moved through. His bridge crew slumped a little deeper into their command seats with every passing day, and their procedure became more and more lax with every false alarm and empty system. Victus understood the situation all too well. He too was demoralized by the lack of success. He, perhaps naively, had expected a thrilling journey chasing after a mysterious radiation pulse. And now, well, he had to be the model of Turian excellence, and keep his crew in line. For now, his strategy was lead by example. Stand up a little straighter, focus on the details. Hopefully the crew would follow suit. If things got worse, he would need to remind them what the Hierarchy and the Council expects. Until then, he would focus on himself.

Especially now, as they approached yet another Relay. This coming jump would be their fourth jump through a relay since 314. Upon their emergence in the uncharted space beyond 314, the exploration fleet was faced with a nexus of interconnected relays.

The decision was made to send scouting fleets through the various relays, while a main force stayed behind ready to reinforce any fleet that found something. Corvus was ordered to lead one such scouting force, and to take the Asari science corvette Xiphos as well as a small collection of frigates and transports through one of the relays. Victus ordered beacons to be dropped in every system they transited, detailing planetary scans, as well as information about where Corvus’s task group went.

And that left them here, the middle of nowhere, two weeks after transiting Relay 314, and 10 days since they last contacted the main fleet, preparing to jump through yet another Relay.

“Coms, you know the drill. Drop me a beacon, broadcasting the ship’s log since our last beacon, as well as the coordinates of our next relay.”

“Aye Captain.”

“Bring weapons and shields online, helm, take us through,” and, after a second thought, “get crew to battle stations, and ready damage control parties, just like last time.”

It never hurts to be careful.

And so, the Corvus, followed by Xiphos and a gaggle of frigates, entered the relay.

They emerged through a debris field. Huge chunks of ice and rock floated past the Corvus’ viewscreen. Collision alarms blared as Corvus maneuvered around the large chunks, deflecting debris ranging from pebbles to boulders off her Kinetic barriers.

“Helm, find us a safe place to park, Coms, check on Xiphos, I’m worried about her civilian barriers. And silence that collision alarm, we’re going to be deflecting debris until we can find a way out of this, no way around it.”

The alarm went silent for a second, before blaring again, this time more rapid and higher pitched.

“Coms, I said to silence that alarm!”

“I did sir! New warning, several unknown signals intercepted. Origin is… Spirits. All over the place! Thousands of satellites!”

Victus could hear the panic in his young coms officer’s voice. Signals meant life, and life meant danger. This expedition got very interesting very fast. With the constant impacts on her kinetic barriers, Corvus would be at a disadvantage in any fight, especially protecting Xiphos. The frigates were already struggling to keep their barriers up. Soon they would fall all together. They needed to move, now.

“Coms, you’re a Turian Lieutenant, get under control. Helm, get us out of this debris field. Coms, have Xiphos and our frigate wing follow in our wake. We’ll clear a path with our barriers. Sensors, I need a comprehensive scan of this system. We need to know what we are dealing with. Be on the lookout for hostiles.”

“Aye sir!”

“Xiphos and escorts confirm sir, forming up with us now”

“Good, Coms, what’s the status on those unknown signals?”

“Sir, we lit up the entire system, seems to have been triggered by our entrance. This place is wired to the teeth, more probes than I’ve ever seen. It appears to be some kind of early warning system. I’m trying to track the signals and isolate any anomalies that could be coming from warships or other defenses, but I’m having difficulties cutting through this noise.”

“Good work. Keep me updated.”

Victus understood the young LT’s concerns. The signals bouncing around the system would all be encrypted, as any good military would ensure, and Corvus would never be able to crack the encryption with so little knowledge about the signals. But, by analyzing the pattern, frequency, and encryption, Corvus might be able to tell if something other than probes is transmitting. Unfortunately, with so many signals in system, transmissions originating from orbital defenses or ships could easily go unnoticed. It was like finding a needle in a haystack. Except the needle may not exist and could look exactly like a piece of straw.

“Sir, we are outside of the debris field,” called out the helmsman.

“Good work, hold station and let the barriers recharge, give sensors time to figure things out.”

Victus has a little time to think. For now. Given the lengths somebody took to ensure that any trespassers were spotted, he could expect a fleet presence here. Nobody this paranoid leaves a planet without a substantial military force. His chances in a fight mostly boiled down to what these people considered substantial.

“Let that debris field clear up a little. Then send Xiphos and two frigates back through the relay to tell the fleet what we found. I don’t want a science ship in the middle of a shootout. Sensors, what have you got?”

“Initial scans show a relatively basic system. 8 planets orbiting a G type main sequence star. Four gas giants, and four terrestrial planets. Two garden worlds within the habitable zone. We are in orbit of a dwarf planet on the outskirts of the system, the relay appears to have been encased in its moon. That’s what caused the debris field”

“That explains why this is the first system with probes. They never found the relay, so they could never explore. Designate this system as Vita. Coms, before she leaves, have Xiphos run a scan of the garden worlds. Her sensors are better than ours.”

Where Corvus’ sensors were optimized for detecting ships against the cold black backdrop of space, Xiphos had equipment perfect for long range planetary scans. Had the situation not been so precarious, he would have ordered her to make an in system jump so she could scan from planetary orbit.

Victus would bet his pension that the garden worlds were inhabited. You don’t defend a system like this for nothing. Plus, without access to the relay, there was nowhere the builders of the probe network could have gome.

As it stands, he wasn’t going to move another muscle unless necessary. Pushing into the system proper with a major intel disadvantage is a recipe for disaster. It didn’t hurt that every minute they spend here, the debris field around the relay loosened. Victus was a major fan of always having a fallback plan. Retreat? Hmph… Turians don’t retreat, they just sometimes have somewhere safer they want to be.

“Xiphos report is in sir. Vita IV is too small to maintain its current atmosphere. Signs point to terraforming. High concentrations of high purity metal alloys on the surface either indicates mineral abundance, or artificial structures…”

There it is. Victus keeps his pension again. And with this news, he probably should petition for a better one. Signs of terraforming. That means an advanced race, able to claw life out barren rock. Which unfortunately, usually comes with a significant technological competence in space. THS Corvus felt smaller by the second.

“… Vita III is likewise interesting. Natural garden world, similar mineral abundance on the surface. 70% water, with multiple large landmasses. Lots of metal in orbit, mostly titanium…”

And there’s the damned fleet. A big one too, if it can be spotted from here. But holding orbit? Their early warning sensors had been screaming for 15 minutes. And yet the enemy fleet hadn’t moved. Strange for a force that knew exactly where he was.

“…there is no evidence of eezo in system.”

Wait, what? A society capable of terraforming with a huge fleet WITHOUT eezo. Interesting. It did explain the stationary fleet however, as well as the excessive early warning system. Without the FTL capabilities of eezo, any fleet would need time to properly react to hostile threats. As it was, the fleet around the Vita III would take months to reach Victus’ fleet without the speeds eezo enabled.

“…and Xiphos is departing system,” The Coms officer reported.

And now, Victus thought, we wait.

~~~~~~

It took four days for the expedition fleet to arrive. In that time Corvus had run more scans of the system, finding numerous moons and stations in orbit of other planets. But nothing nearly as interesting as the supposed fleet around Vita III. Victus couldn’t wait to finally meet this race. From the edge of the system, Corvus broadcast the Citadel message hand drafted for this expedition. A signal offering aid and support to those affected by the pulse. So far, he had no response. Had he jumped to Vita III, he might have had more luck, but he was not about to face that fleet alone. Eezo or not.

“Sir, the remainder of the fleet has cleared the relay.”

Victus didn’t need his Coms officer to tell him to know. Corvus’ bridge had turned into a cacophony of noise seconds earlier, as she once again picked up the thousands of signals from the alien early warning system. The situation was now out of his hands.

~~~~

Aboard the Turian dreadnought Kilware, Admiral Tibril prepared to force the issue of first contact. Given the lack of eezo, waiting for them to come to him, as is Citadel procedure, would take months, time they didn’t have in seeking out the source of the pulse. So, he would come to them. Without kinetic barriers, Tibril was confident that even if negotiations were to collapse, the strength of his fleet would prevail. He had with him two dreadnoughts 13 cruisers, including the Corvus, and 30 frigates. He planned to leave the Xiphos and other scientific ships at the relay. No need to risk them for first contact. He took with him the Asari cruiser Elia, which was loaded with the Asari diplomats critical to this first contact. Protecting the T-shaped ship was a priority.

“Coms, order all ships to form up on Kilware, Lance formation. Elia needs to be protected. Helm, prepare to take us to Vita III on my mark. I want to be out of range of their fleet, use our weapons for range estimation, with a safety factor of 1.5”

Tibril would play it safe. Without Element Zero, the chances the aliens could match the effective range of the Turian dreadnought’s spinal gun was next to none. But, with unknown (potential) enemies, came uncertainty, and as such Tibril wanted to be well outside even his own weapons range.

“Sir, fleet reports ready.”

“Very well, take us in. Time to introduce ourselves.”

The jump was short, only a handful of minutes. What happened next would shape Citadel history. The introduction of a new species perhaps? Or another war? Either way, Tibril was at the spearhead of a historical moment. Lead of the fleet. Any triumph he could wear with pride the rest of his life. Any failure would kill his career, if not himself. And so as the critical moment approached, Tibril stood up straight, looked straight ahead, and prayed that the spirit of this new strange system would carry his crew to victory.

With a flash of light, Kilware slowed to a stop, her escorts forming up behind her. In stunned silence, Tibril beheld what lay before him.

A battle, frozen in time.

The metal band spotted by Xiphos had indeed been a fleet. Two in fact.

One fleet was filled with sleek and beautiful ships, with hooked prows, and a graceful beauty. Deep hues of purple and vibrant chrome emphasized the form of the ships. The looked like an exotic sea creature slipping through the waves, a perfectly crafted hull form. A work of art, no doubt as lethal as beautiful. They inspired a kind of primal fear in Tibril, as if these ships were the hunters, and he the pray. A chill ran down his spine, and he felt like the Turians in pre-historic time must have, stalked by silent predators in the dark nights of Palaven.

The first fleet was spread out against the black backdrop of the stars, arranged in an assault on the garden world. Some ships kept their stations hanging motionless in the starry black. Others drifted by, towards the planet. One ship was in the throes of a violent reentry, a plummeting star in the midst of the frozen space. And then Tibril noticed the sizes. These ships were all above a kilometer, with the hooked prow monsters clocking in at over five kilometers. They dwarfed any ship in Citadel space. Without Element Zero. Any hope of encountering a technologically inferior species had just been dashed.

The size of these monsters dwarfed even the defending fleet.

The other fleet was bred for war. That much Tibril was certain of. Blocky and ominous, these ships were high volume behemoths, comparable in length to many Turian ships, but wider and taller down the entire length of the ship.

The cruiser tonnage ships looked like a rifle, built up around a singular long tube, with a forked bow protruding from their dark grey hulls. The armored plating, almost like a shield protecting the twin engine pods on either side of the stern, hosted a huge white creature, unfamiliar to the Turians of his crew. Around the cruiser’s flanks were scattered ranks of what must be fighter-bombers, black triangular vessels with broad vertical fin protruding from their tails.

Their dreadnoughts left him in awe. Huge octagonal pillars of metal and might, tapering in steps to the flat muzzle of a spinal cannon, gun emplacements nestled into every nook and cranny. Tibril knew what heavy armor plating looked like. He had never seen it like this. Massive twin engines were mounted aft in a vertical pair. Their gaping maws looked like they could swallow his cruisers whole.

Drifting amongst the fleet were what could only be described as massive guns with a space station build around them. The size of the gun rivaled the size of Turian heavy cruisers. Ordinarily, the scale of these weapons would raise questions about their necessity, after all, what enemy could possibly require that power? Having seen the sleek aggressor fleet however, Tibril suddenly began to understand the paranoia and overcompensation.

And then there was the debris. The battle lines of both fleets were ravaged. Opposite the massive guns of the defending space stations were thousands of twinkling shards of metal. The cracked hulls of one of the leviathan warships spun lazily in the void, torn asunder by the might of the stations. Scattered throughout the remainder of the attacking fleet were some of the smaller vessels, with holes blown clean through them. Others had been torn into shreds by what must have been an incredibly powerful explosive force.

Amongst the defenders drifted still burning hulks of the monolithic metal beasts. Dreadnoughts that to Tibril had seemed undamaged continued to spin on their axis, revealing still glowing, decks deep, gashes down their entire length. Huge holes and pockets had been burned out of the heavy armor of these titanium beasts, exposing the congealed mess that used to be the decks below. The defending cruisers could be found snapped in half, entire levels exposed to the void of space.

It was carnage, a battle that in citadel space would have gone down in history as a calamity, a truly tragic loss of life. The space in orbit of Vita III was filled with automated messages bouncing from ship to ship, but to the Turian’s first contact message there was no response. The planet might as well have been dead.

Tibril hailed Victus and ordered the Corvus to land troops in the city below, where he could see a massive excavation site marring the land. In the crater of the excavation was a massive metal bowl, dozens of times the size of the metropolis below. Fires raged through the grasslands surrounding the city, turning the orbital images taken by Corvus into a smear of smoke and ash. The devastation inflicted on the city itself was no better. Buildings had collapsed, either taken down by weapons, or by whatever had been used to dig out the crater.

On the outskirts of the city was the wreck of one of the attacking ships. Whether taken out by the native population, or left to its own devices after the pulse, Victus had no clue.

As Corvus approached the city, certain signs of war became more and more apparent. Tanks and armored cars littered the street, arrayed amongst purple and blue vehicles that matched those in orbit. Smoldering hulks cast city streets in a bizarre glow. Paper and rubble debris covered the streets.

It was chaos frozen in time, a pitched battle without noise, violence, or explosions. Victus had seen the remains of battlefields before in his life, but never like this. Never so raw, so fresh, so unresolved. There was a tension in the air, as if at any moment, the combatants would reappear and resume their desperate struggle.

And what a struggle it must have been. As Corvus hovered meters over the city, her cameras scoured the terrain below for any sign of a threat. Victus watched the viewscreens flicker from angle to angle, each shot looking for intel on the planet below.

He saw primitive helmets and rifles. He saw machine guns behind sandbag barricades, grenade craters. He saw the signs of lasts stands, desperate assaults, and vicious charges in hundreds of different alleys. Victus could see the stories in the images, his tactical mind imagining a Turian cabal sheltered behind every makeshift barricade and chokepoint. He could see a slaughter unlike any of the conflicts he had ever supervised.

There is where a team would have been cornered, the burns on the wall behind them are likely the shots that ended the squad. That rifle marks where a sniper once was, roosted in the heights of the skyscrapers. Those vehicles were part of an evacuation effort, and their strategy would have worked against a Turian attacker. The strategy and mindset of a species at war so familiar to the Turian. In the space left behind where only a corpse could have lain, he imagined himself, slain in battle so familiar to his Turian mind.

Below him, Victus could read the scenes of war like a book, and the story it told was a tragedy. A desperate defense, with nowhere left to run. The advertisem*nts in the city offered Victus his first glance into the defending populace. Their smiling, almost Asari faces plastered across skyscraper facades gave Victus a pang of grief, imagining no longer a shapeless combatant behind the machine guns of the city, but a being that looked so familiar. He could almost feel the spirit of these beings left behind in their fight, aching for resolution, aching for a populace to inspire.

He could see the faces of his comrades in the Citadel Defense Force and the faces of the Asari children that would watch in awe every time the Corvus docked on the Citadel. And now they were all gone, whatever the war and that pulse had done to them. The only people left to mourn their loss knew nothing about them, or their way of life. Did they bury their dead? Or did they burn them? Sink them in the ocean? There are no bodies, it hardly matters. How could he possibly pay respects to the beings that perished on the planet below? How had the spirit of these people, this planet, inspired them to fight a losing war? So many questions Victus wanted to ask the people of the planet, about themselves, their war, and their story.

Victus was under orders to clear the city, and find out what he could about the species’ military technology. The same pulse that wiped out Essus must have taken out both sides of this battle, so Victus did not expect any resistance or survivors. His objective would be easy. But Victus wouldn’t stop there. He needed to find resolution, not just for himself but for the people of this city and the spirit of this world. This race, Asari in face, and Turian in heart, would get their answer. Victus would not let them slide unknown into the void of death. Somebody had to remember their story.

~~~~~~~~

Admiral Tibril was an observant Turian. But, in the debris field around Vita III, there were thousands of objects slowly spinning. Hundreds more stationary and undamaged, maintaining their position. To pay attention to all the ruined hulks drifting in orbit was impossible. Dozens of superheavy hulls cluttered the debris field, each one insignificant against the backdrop of the battle. Across the dead fleet, a cacophony of electrical signals from malfunctioning electrical sub-systems and unattended reactors fills Kilware’s sensors with noise.

So when the Marathon class heavy cruiser UNSC Triumph quietly stops her slow rotation for the first time in six weeks, not a soul in the Turian defense fleet notices.

Nobody sees the twin muzzles of her 49F9A1 MACs come to rest pointed at the Kilware across the dense debris field, nor the superheavy slugs waiting in their barrels.

Nobody knows what the Sanghelli used to say in whispers about the UNSC:

How they didn’t know when to quit.

Chapter 2: Whispers in the Void

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Chapter 2: Whispers in the Void

//Request Received….Authorization Accepted: HDY 0712-4….Executing….Files Retrieved

//UNSC Home Fleet Battlenet:

…

//FILE 1:

//CSG-6 Standing orders:

//Issued: FADM J. Harper, 5^th Fleet, Date: 2552.10.20

1: DEFEND CAIRO BATTLECLUSTER (ATHENS, MALTA, CAIRO)

2: Resist Covenant Landfall (NUCLEAR WEAPONS AUTHORIZED)

3: Prioritize DESTRUCTION of Covenant HVTs (CAS Type Carriers)

AMENDMENT: FADM J. Harper, Date: 2552.10.21

4: ATHENS and MALTA destroyed: Prioritize protection of CAIRO

AMENDMENT: FADM J. Harper, Date: 2552.10.27

5: REPEL Covenant Navy Reinforcements AT ALL COSTS

6: Prevent Landing of Covenant Ground Reinforcements AT ALL COSTS

7: Deny Enemy Orbital Control AT ALL COSTS

8: THIS IS OUR STAND. HOLD THE LINE: MAKE THE f*ckERS PAY. GOOD HUNTING.

AMENDMENT: HDY 0712-4, Date: 2552.11.3

9: CA-755 Command Staff Deceased. Recommend Transfer of Command under UNSC.11.189.232.1. Respond.

AMENDMENT: HDY 0712-4, Date: 2552.12.17

10: Unknown Contacts in SOL System. Complete Loss of Contact with FADM J. Harper, CSG-6 personnel, and UNSC HIGHCOM. HDY 0712-4 Assuming CSG-6 and CA-755 Command Under Regulation: UNSC.11.189.233.4 (Emergency Authorization of AI Command).

11: UPHOLD General Order 098831A-1 ‘COLE PROTOCOL’. Prevent Seizure of UNSC Assets by Unknown Contacts.

…

//File 2

//HDY 0712-4 Battle Strategy Analysis, Date: 2552.12.17

Unknown forces in 5^th fleet debris field. Presumed hostile pursuant to UNSC.09.034.111.2 (Unidentified Forces in Active Warzone). Fleet strength 45 warships, 2 cruisers, 43 frigate and below, clustered together in tight defensive formation. Two more auxiliaries arrived today. Are these forces behind the pulse that murdered my crew? Currently unable to decipher their coms. Signal security is low, almost as if they want to be heard. Possible innocent party? Its Earth, can’t take the risk. I won’t let my crew’s sacrifice go to waste. I don’t know who else is left. Is this fear? We’ve given up too much to let give up Earth without a fight. We have insufficient UNSC forces at hand. We have one chance. Once they know Triumph is here, it’s over. I’ll make it count. Long live the UNSC.

STRATEGY ANALASYS: NUCLEAR FIRST STRIKE RECOMMENDED.

DESIGNATE: BATTLEPLAN CRIMSON

DETAILS: SEE ATTACHED

…

//File 3

//CSG-6 Composition and Manifest. Query = ‘SHIVA’ (Last Updated 2552.11.3)

CA-755 ‘TRUIMPH’, Marathon Class. CSG-6 FLAGSHIP. STATUS: ACTIVE

Ordnance: (MAC: 14 SH, 10 LW; SHIVA: DEPLETED; ARCHER: 5-13, 56-70; M66 SENTRY: 1052)

Notes: NONE

CA-413 ‘FEELING LUCKY’, Marathon Class. STATUS: CATASTROPHIC DAMAGE

Ordnance: (MAC: BOTH INCAPACITAITED; SHIVA: 4 (SILOS 1&2 INCAPACITAITED); ARCHER: DEPLETED; M66 SENTRY: MOUNTS 4-6 INCAPACITAITED, 2034)

Notes: SHIVA Control Disabled Under UNSC.11.182.113.4 (Derelict Ship Weapons Procedure), Requires manual UNSC Officer’s Override to Enable.

FFG-307 ‘AEGIS FATE’, Charon Class. STATUS: ACTIVE

Ordnance: (MAC: 17 LW, ARCHER: DEPLETED, 50MM: 194)

Notes: NONE

FFG-316 ‘CONCORD DAWN’, Charon Class. STATUS: DESTROYED
FFG-214 ‘ALABASTER SKY’, Stalwart Class. STATUS: DESTROYED
FFG-184 ‘HIGHTOWER’, Stalwart Class. STATUS: DESTROYED
FFG-122 ‘BUMP IN THE NIGHT’, Stalwart Class. STATUS: COMMUNICATION LOST

Ordnance: CURRENT LEVELS UNKNOWN

Notes: NONE

FFG-161 ‘IVORY TOWER’, Stalwart Class. STATUS: ACTIVE

Ordnance: (MAC: DEPLETED, ARCHER: 1-3, 13-16, M340A4 STREAK: DEPLETED, M870 RAMPART: 729)

Notes: NONE

//CA-755 ‘TRIUMPH’, Date: 2552.12.18

***ALERT***

NEW TRAFFIC ON: UNSCBattleNet.HomeFleet.5Fleet.CSG-6:

<CA-413 ‘FEELING LUCKY’ REQESTING ACTING CO, CSG-6>

<LONG RANGE INTENSIVE SCAN DETECTED>

<INVESTIGATE ORIGIN?>

HDY 0712-4 (Acting CO, CSG-6): Negative Feeling Lucky. Find me RADM A. Crawley’s neural link.

<WAITING…>

<FOUND: RADM Amanda Crawley. CO, CA-413 ‘FEELING LUCKY’>

<Service ID: 08094-30061-AC>

<STATUS:DECEASED>

HDY 0712-4 (Acting CO, CSG-6): Activate her SOS beacon. Designate her as ‘ACTIVE’ and return access privileges to her neural link.

<WAITING…>

<DONE>

HDY 0712-4 (Acting CO, CSG-6): I see your primary and secondary reactors were destroyed during the attack. I assume SHIVA and Archer targeting is offline?

<AFFIRMATIVE>

HDY 0712-4 (Acting CO, CSG-6): Spin down your auxiliary reactors and cut power to all systems except the central bridge console.

HDY 0712-4 (Acting CO, CSG-6): When that’s done display the power and damage schematic of the ship on Lucky’s console. As soon as Crawley approaches the console, prompt her for manual auxiliary systems re-activation.

<WAITING…>

<DONE>

HDY 0712-4 (Acting CO, CSG-6): Once we receive manual auxiliary systems re-activation authorization, prompt our dear Admiral for SHIVA reactivation and control transfer to Triumph. Keep the prompt low key and unintrusive. Format 1a. Don’t turn the power back on until “Admiral Crawley” gives me SHIVA access.

<WAITING…>

<ACKNOWLEDGED>

HDY 0712-4 (Acting CO, CSG-6): Delete all records of this order, and wipe the ship’s combat logs. Destroy any data that isn’t vital to the SHIVA launch systems.

<WAITING…>

<DONE>

HDY 0712-4 (Acting CO, CSG-6): Good work Feeling Lucky.

<ACKNOWLEDGED>

----------------------------------------------

“Admiral Tibril, Sir.” announced the communications officer on Kilware’s bridge, “Xiphos has initiated the deep scan of the debris field you ordered. She should be able to tell what kind of power these wrecks are running on, as well as if we somehow missed any eezo.”

“Good, report back to me when…”

“Sir, unencrypted communication from the debris field! Origin appears to be INSIDE of one of the defending dreadnoughts. It’s a short message, broadcasting on all frequencies, and repeating regularly. Without knowing its content sir…” the young officer rambled on, talking a mile a minute. It was one thing to be relaying messages and directing fleet traffic on the frontier. When you are surrounded by eviscerated wrecks quadruple your mass? Nerves start talking. Tibril cuts his officer off.

“Just give me your guess Lieutenant.”

“In my experience, sir, that means an SOS.”

SOS? Had his scan triggered some kind of automated distress beacon? It would fit. Turian R&D had often floated the idea of a distress beacon that would only go active when it detected a ship in range. It would allow a crew to have a distress message ready for decades without power, not the months the internal power supply of current models allowed for. Of course, ideally you tapped into the ship’s power, but that’s not always possible. Like if your ship happened to get gutted by a 5km long behemoth. Had the Xiphos scan notified shipboard systems about the presence of potential rescue ships?

Tibril ordered his Kilware’s sensors focused on the distress source. The goliath ship was off Kilware’s starboard bow, slowly dancing in space, clearly without power. As it rotated around, he could see the cause. A huge gash ran down the entire length of the ship, carving deep into the hull, and cooking the vessel from the inside out. Huge chunks of armor plating had been ejected and drifted lazily around the wreck. Detritus streamed out of the rifts in the hull, leaving a long trail as the dreadnought drifted away from wherever it once had been. On the other side, antenna, weapons mounts, and crew modules appeared to be blown out into space from the inside. The damage was catastrophic. Tibril was frankly surprised that she hadn’t atomized herself. With an eezo core, she certainly would have. The advantages of primitive space travel I suppose.

The coms officer highlighted the origin of the SOS. It came from a small protrusion underneath the giant’s bow. As the image on his screen zoomed in on the source, Tibril was taken aback. He saw a small glass enclosed platform in the corner of one of the staggered steps near the bow, reminiscent of the bridge on older pleasure cruisers, where the stunning views made up for the numerous safety violations.

The glass had been shattered and blown out of its frames. It was protected on either side by heavy plates jutting out from the hull but could still be seen from many angles. Fools. All this power, and you put your command crew in a glass box? The jagged hole cut into the ship began a dozen meters above the bridge. The story told itself. In the first second of being fired upon, the blast would have shattered the bridge windows, spacing the entire command staff. I suppose against a weapon like that, it wouldn’t have made much difference anyways.

Indeed, a certain element of Tibril admired the cavalier attitude of this species. To be able to look out at the black stary veil of space while driving a kilometer long pillar of might. He’d be willing to try it once or twice. Provided nobody shot at him.

The signal location was ideal. An SOS signal coming from the bridge? He could retrieve some valuable intelligence, not even to mention the potential technology buried in the destroyed ship. Still, he could be walking his infiltration team into a trap. Set by who? The command crew that was spaced in milliseconds? The survivors who were wiped out by the pulse, just like on Essus?

The risk was worth the reward. And Tibril trusted his Cabals to be careful.

“Coms, get me a Cabal and contact Xiphos for a technological advisor. We’re answering this SOS. It’s time to figure out what’s going on here.”

-------------------------------------------------

Victus watched his ground team from the Corvus’s bridge. The live feed from all 12 squad members were splashed across the viewscreen. They had landed their shuttle in a plaza in the dense downtown area of the city, with orders to explore and take everything that wasn’t nailed down with them. Signs of heavy fighting surrounded them. Corners were blown off buildings. Walls were stitched in crisscrossing lines of pockmarks and burns. Overturned and burnt-out vehicles littered the streets. Sandbag fortifications and strange purple crates formed the respective battle lines.

Corvus’ team moved in. One of the soldiers picked up a rifle dropped amongst a pile of clothes and gear. The heft surprised him. He gave the squad lead a questioning look.

“Go ahead, see what they can do,” the team lead told him with a shrug.

The soldier took a long look at the rifle, which had a pistol grip and a trigger familiar to the Turian. The rifle was long, with a trapezoidal rail attached to the front of the rifle. On top of the rail was an optical scope, with a crosshair, range finding correction markings, and a foreign text. He could see no seams or joints where the weapon could potentially be collapsed like the Turian’s weapons. The Turian swung the rifle up to his shoulder, aimed at a destroyed vehicle, and pulled the trigger. A rapid-fire trio of cracks split his ears, the acrid smell of burning gunpowder filled his nose, and the rifle jerked back into his shoulder, sending three brass cases skittering across the plaza.

“Sprits. Who builds this kind of weapon?” the Turian yelped. And with chemical propellent? No wonder these poor bastards got their asses kicked. Kicks like a krogan too.

Still, he’d like to see what these rounds could do. Seemed like overkill for anything without kinetic barriers. Wait, the symbols on the back of this rail are different than before. He squeezed off another quick burst, and watched the symbols rapidly change and then stop. Bingo.

“Sir, there might be numerals on this rifle. Come check this out.”

As the squad lead walked over, Victus leaned in. Numbers were the first step to understanding any language. And perhaps more importantly, a culture’s technology. This could be their first steps towards creating a translation for this species.

“This rifle fires in three round bursts, sir. If this is an ammo counter, we can figure out how their counting system works. Here, look,” using his omni-tool, he quickly jotted down the current symbols and then fired again. The symbols changed again. The soldier recorded these and then started fumbling around with the weapon.

“If I can just….there!” He grunted as he pulled a heat-sink like box on the rear of the rifle before finding a release switch. He took out a magazine filled with cartridges and started taking the individual rounds out and counting them.

“I count 26 in the magazine, and with one in the chamber that makes 27. Which means, these numbers mean 27. And the symbols on the rifle now….” he says as he flips the rifle back over, looking at two different red symbols, “with only the round in the chamber, the first numeral is zero, and the second is 1!”

The squad leader clapped the Turian on the back and began to walk forwards, “Good work Varso, stick that in your pack, we’ll give it to the eggheads back on Corvus when we’re done here. Let’s roll!”

As the squad moved down the narrowing streets they zig-zagged between stranded vehicles, makeshift barricades, and locked doors leading into buildings. They looked above them where the gray residences stretched up stories above their heads, a series of balconies and thin cables crossing between them. Graffiti written in languages they couldn’t understand was scribbled across abandoned walls. Were they the last manifesto of a rebellious teen? A motivational message from evacuated civilians to the soldiers fighting in the streets?

(Remember Reach)

(f*ck the UNSC)

(The end is near REPENT!)

Varso trailed his had along the walls, taking careful time to inspect every minute detail of the streets. A flowerpot, wilting tulip left un-watered. He picked up some kind of stuffed animal, abandoned and trampled in what must have been a hasty rush to escape the onslaught. A toy soldier lay next to it, dark brown skin and asari face, dressed in the all too familiar garb scattered across the streets and alleys of the city, face contorted in a heroic yell. Varso remembered receiving a similar plaything from his father, decades ago. To inspire your military ambition, he told me. Varso remembers his father’s smile when he came home from a tour. How he would join Varso in imaginary battles against an impossible foe, led by the toy Turian soldier. Looking back, I don’t know why he bought it. I was always excited for my conscription. He knew I didn’t need a toy to inspire me…

Varso could remember those days fondly, back when life was so simple. When school and his dinner were his largest concerns in his life. Back when war was a fun fantasy. Back when a mission didn’t mean a chance at never seeing a brother again. He was proud of his service, of course he was. He was a Turian after all. It was his purpose, his cause. To protect his people, his honor, and his family. He wondered if these foreign soldiers, who were wiped from the face of the planet without a trace, ever though the same way.

Were they scared when the attackers came? Did they put on a brave face for their children? Did they think of honor? Curse their luck? What kept them from turning and running? What empowered them to stand their ground?

Varso wishes beyond all else that he could ask one of them, to reach across the void and meet them. Hear their story.

Varso stared at the toy for a few more long heartbeats, before reaching back and slipping it into his bag, alongside the stuffed animal. They playthings jostled against the heavy rifle as Varso got up and moved to catch up with the team, stopping briefly to inspect the city surveillance camera watching the alley.

They emerged from the hallway into an even larger courtyard. The street looped around some kind of central monument, where a small dome supported by concrete pillars raised above some kind of a station or device. Shrubbery and strange tanks surrounded the monument, and the signs of battle marked the streets.

The squad lead carefully approached and inspected one of the tanks scattered near the monument. He rapped his knuckles on the bright orange side and listened to the hollow clang inside. He held his omni-tool near some kind of breathing apparatus before it beeped. Traces of methane? In a breathing mask? So then the tank is a breathing apparatus to survive here?

“There’s methane in this tank Captain Victus.”

In orbit, Victus snapped his head up to the screen, “You’re sure?” The squad lead responded in the affirmative. Spirits. Methane breathers on a planet with a nitrogen-oxygen atmosphere. This meant that this attacking species didn’t evolve here. And none of the methane bearing planets in the system showed any sign of native life, the initial scans from the Xiphos had confirmed it. This isn’t some local war between two races from the same system. The attackers aren’t from here.

It all clicked. The size of the attacking fleet, the difference in ship design, the fanaticism of the defense. And to get to Vita III? No species is making an interstellar voyage on sublight engines to launch an invasion. Not with this scale of destruction. The logistics just don’t work. Which means somewhere in the debris field around him, there were FTL drives that didn’t rely on eezo. This could revolutionize space travel, untether the Citadel from the relays, depending on the speed of the drives.

In a flurry of activity Victus and the bridge team contacted Kilware, leaving the ground team unattended.

So when, Varso approached the monument, and he felt a chill run up his spine, the squad was alone.

As his heartrate spiked, he slowly looked around him. He’d had this feeling once before, right before walking into a pirate ambush on some backwater world bordering the Terminus. Back then, his squad had lost three men. And now, he was feeling it again.

He carefully scanned the street around him. The city was eerily silent. No animals. No civilians. No gunfire. Just silence. Nothing was out of place, and yet somehow everything was.

Varso was certain they were being watched.

The squad noticed his reaction and dropped into crouches, setting a defensive line around the monument, the squad leader silently working his way over to Varso. Varso’s eyes jumped from balcony to balcony, street to street. Searching for an enemy he was certain existed. Somehow, on this dead world, somebody was monitoring their every move. He could feel it, the eyes trained on the back of his head.

Varso took gentle, controlled, breaths. Almost praying for the snap of a bullet to break the tension and return the world to motion.

And then, the machine in the center of the monument started ringing.

The squad snapped around and trained their weapons at the machine. It rang again, a long pulse and then silence for a second. It rang twice more, all while the squad watched motionless.

“Varso, go check it out,” the squad lead ordered in a near inaudible whisper. Varso took slow and careful steps, one after the other, approaching the machine. Holding his rifle in one hand, he carefully lifted the handle on the mechanism. It lifted a curved piece, attached to the machine and when it was free, the ringing stopped. He examined the piece and saw a speaker and a microphone embedded in it. A public communication device? He lifted it to his ear.

“Hello?”

He got no answer. Varso didn’t know why he bothered. This was a dead world. They were just chasing dust and echoes. He put the receiver down and walked back to the squad. The ringing didn’t resume.

Varso felt a drop of liquid on his head. Then another. And another. He looked up to see an overcast sky, the skies opening to rain on their heads. He checked his omni-tool: water. Safe. The rain was constant now, a steady heartbeat in the otherwise silent city. Finally breaking the unresolved silence that filled the streets; a cleanse to wash away some of the stains of conflict.

Down the road, a car started flashing; bright red and blue lights accompanied by a loud siren.

As the squad stared at the spectacle, a traffic sign behind the car illuminated, its bright orange arrow directing to the right.

(“DETOUR, DETOUR, DETOUR…”)

At their feet a crosswalk on the road lit up in flashing white lights. An automated voice chimed from a hidden speaker:

(“WALK SIGN IS ON. PLEASE CROSS”)

While the Turians could not understand the voice, they had a few guesses.

“Some kind of city VI like on the Citadel? Could it be giving evacuation instructions with traffic signs?”

“I don’t know sir.”

“Ground team, this is Corvus. We’re taking these messages and using them to compile a translation program. Follow the messages, and record more.”

“Affirmative Corvus”

And so, the Turian squad walked off into the rainfall, footprints left in their wake being gently washed away.

Behind them, the traffic camera watched on in silence, rotating to follow the group as they disappeared down the street.

-------------------------------------

Maelal Ozor was a curious Salarian, in more ways than one. To his Asari crewmates on Xiphos, he was a bizarre technician signed on to the team for his mechanical expertise, a last minute addition to the hastily assembled mission into unknown space. A token Salarian presence in the relay expedition, while the STG patrolled Terminus space affected by the pulse. In a crew of consummate professionals, centuries old Asari scientists who pursued the truth of the universe with a delicate hand, his childlike scramble for any hint of new technology was simultaneously off-putting and endearing.

Ozor had once considered joining the STG. He certainly had the mind for it, his test scores far above his peers. But Ozor wanted to share his discoveries with the world, to be able to grab the person next to him and tell them about all the fascinating things he had discovered. The cloak-and-dagger status quo of the Salarian intelligence services would never had fit him. He would have found himself either alone and depressed, or in front of a firing squad for divulging state secrets. So he went into civilian science, and was soon studying the relays, taking part in research missions to the furthest flung relays, trying to discern the grand mysteries of the galaxy’s prevailing FTL method. He had studied the citadel, trawled the underbelly of the massive station, following keepers, trying to figure out how the station worked.

And now, he was onboard a shuttle, EVA suit on, with a Turian Cabal surrounding him. Their target? The bridge of a gargantuan alien dreadnought. And estimated 10-15 million tons of warship with no apparent mass reducing technology, in a 1km long warship that dwarfed anything ship in Citadel space. And something had carved it stem to stern, ripping through meters of titanium alloy, living spaces, and crew members alike. And, if the reports from the ground team were true, somewhere in this debris field was a brand new, eezo-less method of FTL travel.

Ozor was in heaven. He was on the precipice of a great scientific discovery. He would soon learn things that nobody in the galaxy (well, nobody still alive) knew. He could explore a whole new world of technology. A brand-new realm of science. Could he pioneer a new study of whatever this species was? Could he introduce a new technological commodity to the universe. He could be rich; he could be famous. But to Ozor, that didn’t matter, as long as he got explore this novel world. He could spend the rest of his short Salarian life in this debris field alone, wandering the halls of ships long since destroyed.

He looked around the transport shuttle, at the stoic Turian Cabal surrounding him. A group of soldiers who could kill him in an instant, who had seen combat on dozens of worlds, who could lift unthinkable mass with their minds using the power of biotics. They could never understand the gravity of this moment. All they saw were the dangers. They couldn’t see the opportunity, only another objective. They didn’t see a new technological marvel, they saw the ship that got its entire crew killed.

So as the ship rapidly approached the derelict, Ozor knew that he needed to make the most of this trip. To push the boundaries. To discover what he could in the little time they would have.

“Prepare for EVA,” announced the pilot’s voice over the comms system. The Turian at the rear of the shuttle grabbed the long tether attached to the wall of the shuttle and hooked it on himself. The other Turians in the cabal inspected each other and their seals. Ozor felt the Turian behind him pat down his seals and breathing equipment, before reaching around to give him an ‘OK’ signal. He was good to go.

The atmosphere was lowly pumped out of the crew cabin, before the rear hatch silently opened. The Turian with the tether gently pushed off, using the tiny thrusters in his suit to guide himself towards the ruined bridge of the dreadnought. As he crossed the abyss, Ozor glimpsed the bright sunlight reflecting off the titanium plating surrounding the bridge, the huge white lettering stretched across the hull above it.

(Feeling Lucky)

As he reached the bridge, Ozor watched the Turian drifted in through the shattered windows, and past two chairs that stretched out over empty space; their occupants legs would have dangled over the glass panel that would have provided a magnificent view below the ship. Now, it was all ruined. The upholstery on the chairs had been scorched away by the heat of the blast, and the metal had been warped and twisted by the thermal radiation of whatever destroyed this ship. Two shattered monitors suspended from roof would have displayed vital ship information Ozor suspected. The Turian clipped the tether to the frame of one of the chairs, giving it a firm yank to ensure it was secure. He waved to the Turians still on the shuttle. One by one, they clipped onto the tether, and pulled themselves across the gap onto the bridge. The Turian guiding Ozor clipped them both to the tether, and then navigated them across the gap. Feeling his feet hit the deck of the bridge, and his magnetic soles activate, he unclipped and observed the ruined bridge.

The bridge consisted of a lower level ringed with workstations along the walls. At the front of the lower level were the command chairs they had clipped the tether to. Workstations near the front were scorched and warped, while those further aft, away from the opening were undamaged. There were the tattered remains of uniforms on many of the chairs, and with some sorrow, Ozor realized he could see matching uniforms drifting outside that had must have belonged to crew sucked out into space. A terrifying, miserable fate.

Towards the inside of this lower ring, was a raised platform, no more than a meter above the lower deck. Another rings of seats and consoles formed the perimeter of this platform, and in the center stood what could only have been a Captain’s chair. Monitors and manual controls littered the ceiling, giving the bridge the feeling of an old school freighter, just with far more technology and subsystems and far lest rust. Behind the swiveling command chair was a long table with a glass surface, and at one end, was some kind of pedestal, where the room opened into standing space before encountering the stout sealed bulkhead separating the bridge from the rest of the ship. Above this pedestal was some kind of flashing diagram of the ship, the lone light on the bridge.

All the lights scattered across bridge were dark. Not surprising, the ship must have either lost power or shutdown her reactors to avoid a detonation.

As the Turian cabal cleared the bridge, Ozor made his way up the steps to the command chair. He saw a flashing light nestled in a tattered uniform underneath a damaged console forward of the command chair. The console had been smashed, cracking the screen and leaving a sickening dent in the housing for the keyboard. This crewmember must have been flung into the console by the decompression. At the speeds needed to inflict this kind of damage, certainly fatal, at least assuming Asari physiology. Small mercy. Faster than asphyxiation. He worked to untangle the flashing metal object from the uniform, taking care to glance at the badge on the uniform’s chest.

(UNSC Feeling Lucky)

(Crawley)

There were rank insignias on the shoulders and collar of the dark grey uniform. Gold highlights and devices shone brightly in the sunlit bridge. In a large patch on the shoulder, a creature identical to the ones painted on the sides of the ships. The same animal, this time in gold, adorned the collar. Ozor had seen enough military uniforms to know what this much gold meant.

He looked at the flashing device he had picked up. At one end was a plate, which appeared designed to fit flat against whatever the device was installed on. From the plate protruded a flat and broad piece of circuitry. It looked to Ozor like some kind of implant. If that were the case, these interfaces on the perimeter of the broad circuitry were probably biometrics.

Ozor brought his omni-tool up to the device. It beeped rapidly, the same signal the commander the Turian fleet had played the team in the briefing room prior to the mission. The implant was transmitting the SOS.

“Captain? I found the mission objective. It looks to be some kind of implant. Based on the shape, and assuming Asari biology, it appears to be surgically implanted into the back of the skull. With technology of the ship’s species, and size of the device, likely has advanced biometrics in addition to IFF and distress capabilities. The uniform indicates this individual was likely high rank…” Ozor rambled on, before the Cabal leader cut him off.

“Shut up and give me that Salarian. Kilware, we have accomplished the primary mission objective,” the Cabal leader started walking away while talking, past the pedestal. As he moved by the pedestal, a prompt flashed next to the diagram of the ship. Ozor’s amphibian eyes widened to the size of dinner plates. Did the system react to the implant?

“Captain, don’t move! That implant might be providing access to the ship’s systems. If I get power reactivated, we might be able to…” he trailed off as he inspected the diagram.

It depicted a wireframe of the ship, covered in red and black along the path of the gash in the hull. Elsewhere was marked green. In the rooms with green markings, a yellow lightning bolt icon flashed red. A lightning bolt. A symbol for electricity perhaps? Likely. Towards the aft of the ship, there were enormous modules, the largest two of which were colored black, with red warnings flashing on them. If this is anything like our ships, those will be the power generation plants. Black must mean destroyed, since the path of black modules matches path of gash in the hull. If I can find an auxiliary reactor and reactivate it… His eyes scanned the diagram and found a pair of modules nestled in the bowels of the ship, identical to shape and form to the larger reactors, but this time one of the reactors was highlighted in green, the same color as the undamaged portions of the ship.

On a hunch, he quickly memorized the symbols marking the undamaged auxiliary reactor.

(Auxiliary Fusion Reactor #2)

And, as he analyzed the message that had appeared when the captain approached, he saw the very same markings in the message.

(Auxiliary Fusion Reactor #2 is operational, but shutdown. Restart?)

The system must be asking him to restart the reactor. It makes sense. Keep the ship offline to conserve fuel and power, and offer a reset when a high ranking officer approached. With luck restarting the reactor would restore power to the bridge systems. That’s if I’m right. Or it could be some kind of trap. But if I tell the captain that I don’t know for sure, he’ll shut me down, and we will never learn anything.

“Captain, I can get the power restarted from here, using an undamaged auxiliary reactor.”

“Are you sure Salarian?”

“Yes,” Ozor lied through his teeth.

“Do it, the ship’s crew are dead. They won’t be attacking anybody. A little power in here could help us recover some evidence of what happened here.”

He nodded. Now how do I actually interact with the system? On the small screen below the hologram there were two options, one green and one red. Ozor looked back at the model. Green undamaged, Red is damaged. Green good, red bad in this culture? He stared at the screen. Here goes nothing. He pressed the green button. The bridge remained silent, lights off. A new prompt appeared.

(SHIVA warheads locked down under UNSC.11.182.113.4 (Derelict Ship Weapons Procedure). CSG-6 standing orders permit use of nuclear weapons. CA-413 is incapacitated. CA-755 requests command and control of SHIVA warheads. Release SHIVA warheads for CA-755 command and control?)

Ozor pondered the new message. Nothing had happened yet. Is this some kind of confirmation message? Auxiliary systems needed for reactor start? Once more he hit the green button on the screen.

For a second, nothing happened. And then Ozor felt a gentle rumble through the soles of his feet, which shortly resolved into a gentle hum. Once by one, the lights on the bridge flashed on, red emergency lighting bathing the dark recesses of the bridge. Consoles lit up across the space, and monitors were brought to life displaying whatever information they were designed to. The door in the bulkhead chimed and opened in response to the Turian standing near it.

“Aha! Success!” Ozor had figured out an alien technology system.

“Good work. Take the implant Salarian, and see what you can access on these monitors, while we take a look around past this door,” the Cabal ordered, handing off the aforementioned device as he and the team disappeared down the hallway outside the door.

Ozor was about to be let loose on an alien’s ships bridge with an officer’s access codes and dozens of terminals to examine. Suck it STG.

Ozor got to work, reaping the benefits of his confidence.

---------------------------------------------

The rain worsened as the afternoon faded to night. What had started as a sprinkle was now a downpour. The Corvus ground team hugged the buildings as they worked their way through the streets of New Mombasa, following the mysterious VI’s signs. For hours they had been following the signs. Sometimes they lost the trail, only to be quickly brought back on track by a car’s siren or roadblock. One time they were brought back to the path by a machine spitting out hundreds of coins.

Varso picked up what he thought might be useful as he went, his pack slowly filling up with abandoned weapons and relics of the deserted city. He felt like a scavenger picking his way through the aftermath of a warzone, looking to make a cheap buck. He felt wrong. He wishes he could have helped.

Everywhere they go, the see reminders of the people of the city. An advertisem*nt, with smiling children’s faces. Propaganda posters, depicting brave soldiers in their gear, pointing at an unknown foe.

He scans the skyline, wondering what this city looked like before its war. A huge tower, with rings supporting a study framework, reached partially into the sky. At the top, it was broken. It was a space elevator. Or at least it once was. It had collapsed, its upper half flung away into orbit, and its lower half scattered for hundreds of miles across the savannah. What he would have given to ride it just once. The space elevator’s profile would have been a feature of the city, a mighty tether disappearing into the clouds. As it was, it was just a monument to what could have been.

It would have been the economic center of the city, a huge tool for commerce. Had the citizens of the city, still been around, it would have taken years to rebuild. I guess it doesn’t really matter.

As they walk, a comfortable monotony sets in for Varso. The rain continues to pour. They weave between cars and down alleys. Every so often a sign will flicker to an arrow to show them directions. Varso has no clue where they are being led. He just hopes it will have some answers.

As they move on, the frequency of the VI’s interruptions increases. Traffic barricades pop out of the street when they take a wrong turn. Entire billboards light up with large arrows directing them. Now entire rows of machines were spitting out coins. The city had come alive with the eerie sounds of traffic warnings and automated messages.

The VI leads them to a large building, with a broad façade and stairs leading down into an underground area. A large sign presumably tells citizens where they are.

(Kikowani Station)

A long overhanging roof supported by thick concrete pillars serves to shelter the team from the pounding rain. Metal shutters are closed over the staircases, and Varso can hear the surging roar of floodwater somewhere down in the darkness. So much for finding an evacuation route.

The VI has suddenly gone quiet. No more signs. No more automated messages. Without warning their “companion” had left them. Without direction the team began to wander beneath the shelter of the buildings overhand. They meandered between pillars, investigated writing scrawled on the walls.

(This is the end)

(Help Us!)

Nobody on the squad spoke.

Varso rounded a pillar to find a suit of armor leaned up against the opposite side of the column. The armor was dark grey, with a large composite chest plate covered in straps and webbing. There were small writings on the flat surfaces, identifying inscriptions likely.

(UNSC)

(ODST)

The chest plate was scratched and nicked, the freshly reapplied coating already ruined by nights of heavy fighting. The under-suit was some form of fabric, flexible, resilient, painted in dark grey. The arms and legs were heavily armored, dark gray plates, their backs camouflaged in a subtle grey-green patten. The helmet had a light blue full-face visor, unlike anything they had come across so far. A white stripe ran from the forehead all the way back to the helmet. A sidearm lay by the soldier’s fingerless gloves, painted dark black with night-sights and a suppressor. Spec ops maybe?

And then he heard a series of beeps and the automated voice once again.

(“GOOD CITIZENS FOLLOW ORDERS”)

(“JOIN THE UNSC, BECOME A HERO TODAY”)

“What are you?” Varso didn’t expect an answer. He couldn’t speak its language, and neither could it. Useless VI. He looked around and saw the security camera on the pillar opposite him tracking his moment. What does it want with me? Its just a VI right? What does it care about me? Why take us here?

He turned back around and picked up the helmet. Inside on the visor, he could see a HUD still running. Peering into the helmet, he started switching the small buttons on the exterior of the helmet. Some kind of night vision. A map. Recordings? Audio Files? He reached around to put the helmet in is pack. As he slipped the helmet in, the voice chimed in again.

(“TRAVELERS ARE RESPONSIBLE FOR THE SAFETY OF PERSONAL ITEMS”)

(“PLEASE REPORT CRIMES AT NEAREST NMPD STATION”)

(“THANK YOU FOR HELPING OUR CITY!”)

More recordings in a language he couldn’t understand. He wishes he had a translator.

“Varso! There’s nothing here! Let’s head back to the shuttle and get dry,” called the squad lead. Varso took one last look at the former spec-ops soldier and the security camera watching him before turning his back and walking away.

------------------------------------------------

// CA-755 ‘TRUIMPH’, Date: 2552.12.18

***ALERT***

NEW TRAFFIC ON: UNSCBattleNet.HomeFleet.5Fleet.CSG-6:

HDY 0712-4 (Acting CO, CSG-6): Hailing Aegis Fate, Bump in the Night, Ivory Tower.

<FFG-161 ‘IVORY TOWER’ ACKNOWLEDGING>

<FFG-306 ‘AEGIS FATE’ ACKNOWLEDGING>

HDY 0712-4 (Acting CO, CSG-6): Prepare for engagement according to BATTLEPLAN CRIMSON. Set ship wide condition ZEBRA.

<FFG-306 ‘AEGIS FATE’ WAITING….>

<FFG-161 ‘IVORY TOWER’ WAITING…>

<FFG-306 ‘AEGIS FATE’ DONE>

<FFG-161 ‘IVORY TOWER’ DONE>

…

// CA-755 ‘TRUIMPH’, Date: 2552.12.18

***ALERT***

NEW TRAFFIC ON: UNSCBattleNet:

HDY 0712-4 (Acting CO, CSG-6 (HomeFleet.5Fleet.CSG-6)): All surviving UNSC forces, set ship wide condition ZEBRA. Nuclear ordnance authorized. FLASH WARNING. Repeat. FLASH WARNING.

---------------------------------

// New Mombasa City Superintendent, Date: 2552.12.18

***ALERT***

NEW TRAFFIC ON: UNSCBattleNet:

(Permissions: READ ONLY)

<HDY 0712-4 (Acting CO, CSG-6 (HomeFleet.5Fleet.CSG-6))>

<All surviving UNSC forces, set ship wide condition ZEBRA. Nuclear ordnance authorized. FLASH WARNING. Repeat. FLASH WARNING>

------------------------------------

The walk back to the shuttle had been a quiet one. The city VI had not said another word. No more directions. No more games. Instead, the storm had only gotten worse. The rain pounded the fireteam, drowning out the sound of their footsteps. The wind picked up, blowing sheets of rain in their faces. As the squad rushed to the shuttle, Varso took one last look around the haunted city, wondering if he would ever be allowed to return. To investigate more. Maybe one day I’ll find out what happened here.

And then all hell broke loose. All the cars in the square erupted into noise. The billboards on the tower walls started flashing. The automated voice returned; volume boosted beyond what they had ever encountered before. Every single viewscreen and monitor in the plaza was rapidly flashing red. Street barricades popped up and down, turning the plaza into a wave of motion.