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Post by Cali on Feb 7, 2011 5:22:02 GMT 1
Software – Kassa Fabrication 450 T Date: 3/14/2177 Encryption Code: --- Product Registered to: Brooklyn Seltzer Status: Off the Record Title: On Burke
A pane of glass lasts a lengthy amount of time, provided some malevolent force has not tampered with it. I suppose that’s exactly what time is: a rancorous, malignant scope of chronology that wears down everything that dwells within its synapse.
I am no philosopher, but I’d warrant that time batters and smashes the people who outlast its weathering. People like Burke Craddock. Yet people such as Burke fascinate me. His body bruised, and his mind flayed in various methods, yet his spirit still carries his battered self over its ethereal shoulder. If Burke is a pane of glass, he’s a stalwart one.
Burke. You’ve been tricked, and you’ve been deceived, time and time again. You blame both your enemies, and the ones who employ you, and don’t acknowledge the fact that I am indirectly responsible for what happened to your family. If I told you I do not know how you would react, finding out the woman you love has a few suspicious bones dug under the ground. Would you forgive me? Would you turn your gun on me?
I am too timid to find out. I hope one day you will, though I admit, I am not sure I will be the one to tell you. I could be living the biggest mistake ever.
I really, really don't kno
LOG SENT TO: DELETED
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In 2177, the Systems Alliance was still recovering from the assault on the human colony of Elysium, by a faction of mercenaries and privateers from the Terminus systems, a gruesome battle following in its wake. Because of transgressions such as this, the cold war between the Citadel Council and the Terminus Factions is a powder keg waiting to ignite, and political tensions were at an all time high.
Both sides wished to avoid open war at all costs, utilizing espionage and black operations to peer into enemy operations and sabotage them. These were carried out entirely by the most secret of agents, privateers, mercenaries, and freebooters.
Commissioned by the Citadel Council, the privateer crew of the Panera, a state of the art heavy fighter/corvette, was one such operations cell. Highly paid and supplied with the best of gear, their assignments were always extremely treacherous. Their latest task took them to the world of Golmes, located deep in the terminus systems, where Citadel intelligence confirmed the existence of a remote, but heavily fortified facility located along the planet’s equator…
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Post by Cali on Feb 7, 2011 5:24:10 GMT 1
Chapter 1 – Human Raindrop _________________________________________________________________ Recommended Music:
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The human’s boots were camped on the brink of the closed ramp, the turian no more than a few feet behind him. The interior of the heavy fighter hissed as the compartment’s environmental regulators were negotiating with the atmosphere’s pressure.
The two species located in the cramped lower chamber were shaped quite differently, though their armor matched in color and material, reflecting a coarse olive, or aquamarine as the lights in the chamber were a scorching light blue. Their helmets were closed, their respirators already functioning, and interior interfaces glowing within their visors.
“You two check your equipment, will you?” A distinctly feminine voice requested on the intercom. The human lifted his arms to the sides as he felt the turian fidget with the weapons and chute pack. Two gentle smacks on the back of his helmet signified that he would have to return the favor.
He span around and placed two gloved hands on the turian’s tactical rifle, pushing with one and pulling with the other, noticing it was well in place. He checked to see if there were any indents with the pack, and there were none to be found. He gingerly smacked the turian on his armored cuspate head and about faced to the ramp, the turian following suit.
“You got about ten seconds, your barn doors better be shut tight!” The intercom cracked.
The ramp cracked and shook, wobbling as it dragged along the air. The interior lights switched to a dim red and the night sky’s clouds below them began to formulate into their vision, bursting with electrical discharges which impacted in the distorted ground below. The ramp was finally open completely, his toes just short of the exterior atmosphere. The eeriness of the view and sound were marveled and savored by both of them.
The intercom buzzed loudly. “Have a nice landing guys, bail, bail, bai-“
Burke Craddock had already launched himself into mid air before Brooklyn Seltzer had finished blabbering the commands to commence the HALO jump. The wind throttled into his body, his legs in hook shapes as he adjusted his feet above his torso, and his hands and arms over the sides of his head as if he was some sort of malevolent warlock waiting to cast a hex. A feeling of natural and unserious anxiety swept down his vagus nerve, his stomach clenching itself together, and his knees and nether region quivering. The sensation would dissipate a few hundred more feet as he fell from the muggy heavens of Golmes.
His visor flashed statistics and reports as the clouds below drew closer with every passing moment, the upper right corner counted how far he was from the surface in meters, directly below was a helix that was constantly climbing, flanked by tiny digits. On the bottom of his view were six light blue vertical bars indicating the strength of his kinetic combat barrier, or shields.
7000 meters.
His turian friend was falling almost twice as fast as he, and Burke only had to lift his head slightly higher to see a lopsided wireframe square that the visor marked him as. This maneuver most likely due to the shape of his species, as well as stiffening his posture to fall quicker.
The clouds below were closer than ever, and there was a blinding flash of white light directly below the turian before he disappeared beneath the blanket of condensed mist. He had just narrowly avoided getting point blanked by a lightning bolt, and would no doubt boast about it later on.
Craddock immersed himself into a thinner spot in the clouds, praying that he would not get electrocuted. He was well aware that his outfit undertook assignments that would make even the hardiest gunpowder eating, hot sauce drinking pirate cringe. Another flash caused him to flinch in fear, though to his luck, this bolt of lightning struck far in the distance.
Wisps of moisture caked his visor and suit, becoming completely wet upon the hydro retardant armor. At the moment, Craddock had no reliable sight of the world around him, but he could feel and notice the hydroponic cells of the saturated cloud were beginning to become too weighty as he neared the bottom.
And so he emerged from the innards of the storm, plummeting from the clouds like a drop of human precipitation. As was programmed and scripted prior to the mission, his helmet’s software switched to its image intensifier. The swamp, most of its trees and the mucky water glowed a visible lime green as the night vision saturated the visor. A red marker in the center of the screen span clockwise, a sign of the rendering objective tag. It disappeared, followed by a red “<>” marker that straddled the batarian staging area below. If it were not for these software accessories, it would be horribly difficult to see where his target was. The rainstorm gave them feasible cover, but it certainly worked the other way around.
The upper right section of the Heads-Up-Display hit the 2000 meter mark. He had to admit, he was always a little nervous when he came that close to the ground, and it did not assuage the feeling to know that he had to drop 1800 more of these standard units of measurement to open his chute as was the norm with a HALO jump.
The installation was stuck at the base of a small mountain and hedged the lowlands, in between several holes and pools of scummy water. There were two primary structures total that stuck out of the ground, one being the primary staging area, and the other the garrison. The secondary and tertiary structures marked watch towers, pillboxes, and various automated anti aircraft batteries. To their luck, the ship he had dropped from was flying far too high, and the AA guns were not designed for targeting and obliterating low opening paratroopers, who were a dying breed. It was the perfect insertion plan, foolproof.
His visor flashed a hellish white for a brief moment, burning into his retinas. He clenched his eyelids shut, and shook his head slightly. Bright lights were famously blinding with amplified night vision, and atmospheric discharges were no exception.
1300 meters.
He spotted the turian’s marker somewhere east and it was quite clear he had already opened his chute, judging by the speed of his fall and the fact that he was steering his position. It was quickly nearing the time for Burke to open his own as well, and he placed his right hand over his shoulder.
The base was as clear as he could see it in an aerial view. The inner base was no more than a square kilometer or two. A sizable, breadbox shaped installation was in the center, surrounded by water. Over these bodies of swampy water were several low hanging bridges no more than a few meters long, just enough to guide themselves to the landing pads. The occasional poor batarian blighter that was unfortunate enough to be commissioned to guard duty for such a foul night was seen, tiny as ants from where he was standing. All in all, Burke counted two so far.
260 meters.
Burke toiled on the cord, the top making a noiseless burst as the state of the art chute lunged out of the pack. It blossomed like a daffodil, the air around it being ambushed by the aerodynamics. Craddock’s torso swung forward almost violently, his legs following suit and dangling. He grasped the two steering straps at the flanks of the pack and yanked the starboard side, leading him toward the mountain. He sighed in a burst of relief, the most difficult part seemingly over.
His plan was to circle around at the available blind spots of the base and land at the top of the main installation. Though the storm had drawn the water level higher than it should have been, and the metal gangplanks were slick with rain and swamp water that had sloshed upon the surface. He was now close enough for his visor to mark red triangles over any signature that was not confirmed as his squadmate. In this case, there were four signatures that were immediately picked up. Two were on the ground, the rest were in towers or elevated positions.
There was another horrible blinding lightning flash that filled his visor, followed by a violent throttling and a deafening crack. His retinas slightly recolored the screen a light pink afterwards, and he noticed he began to fall faster than he already was.
Burke tasted vomit at the back of his throat, the hairs on the back of his neck snapping to a military attention. He looked up, seeing a hole the size of a basketball singed through his parachute. The burning had started to spread, but was getting doused by the rain.
Burke clenched his teeth together, yanking further on the port steering cord, then the starboard as he lined himself up on a soft spot on the mountain. The parachute began to tear under pressure.
30 meters.
A crowbar would have to be used to pry both rows of his teeth apart from one another. At that very moment, it would have been suicide to open the emergency chute, as he was too close to the ground to jettison his current one. He swallowed hard and did the next best thing. He spread his armored legs and squeezed the emergency release as he neared the ankle of the mountainside.
He landed in a pile of earthen goo, the solid ground beneath him playing him like an accordian. He cursed himself for silently, as his mind began to clutch the fact that he was being carried away in a mudslide that he may have instigated. He rolled over once, and as his feet pressed against solid ground, he quickly sprung off the edge of a high ledge that lead to ground level.
His balance had faltered, and he spun in mid air as he plowed through the hollow branches of a dead tree, and eventually landed in a pocket of swampy water, a violent splash tearing the already tottery stability of the waterline, shortly before being beaten down by the heavy rain.
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Post by Cali on Feb 10, 2011 22:47:31 GMT 1
Chapter 2 – Into the Breach _________________________________________________________________ Recommended Music:
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The night vision allowed the murky water to be exposed, along with the strange and misshapen fish that dwell within it. His Mantis mark VI light combat armor was quite capable of toiling underwater for an hour or two, as it was also a pressure and wet suit.
He laid on a rock beneath the swamp, sitting up and reaching behind him and removing his pack entirely, noticing it had been chewed up by the slab of jagged stone. Afterward, he began to float up on his own, buoyancy playing its part.
He then kicked off and swam in the direction of his objective marker on the heads up display. He began to wonder if his turian partner had fared better in his journey to the surface, as well as evading the guards. Every earthen corner he swam around seemed to lead him in a maze of sorts, until he was certain he reached the mainland.
He popped his head free of the surrounding water, seeing the main structure in all its glory. His visor immediately marked a target that was no less than ten feet in front of him. He sunk his head halfway down, hoping that he would not get recognized. There was another lightning strike, and Burke clenched his eyes shut shaking his head about.
When he opened them he noticed the batarian before him had stepped to the edge of the ground, looking around under his tarp hood, clutching a sniper rifle in his hand. It was evident that Burke was safe from being located at least at the moment, though another lightning strike could very well give away his position.
He saw the ally marker on his screen appear to the south on top of the building, staying still for quite a while, even as the batarian sentry stood and began lighting a cigarette under his hood with an omni tool.
As diligently as he could, Burke moved to the side near a fallen tree, reaching for his assault rifle and pressing the assemble button. The weapon made a cracking sound, a telltale sign that something had jammed in the mechanism. At first, he thought the bog water had done something to its integrity, but upon closer inspection, he found that it had been horribly chewed up by the impact on the rock. Burke looked up, sweat beginning to accumulate upon the side of his jugular. Tingles went down his bicep as he mentally prepared himself to ambush and wrestle this four eyed alien.
There were muzzle flashes from the position of his squadmate, and the batarian was cut down, his face landing in the water while his feet rest on the muddy shore, twitching their last. Burke thought about waving to him, but he digressed. Instead, he packed up his assault rifle, strapping it to his armord back, and waded up toward the shore, grasping the corpse by its right armpit and holding his head underwater in case he still lived.
Gingerly the human moved toward the fallen tree, tugging the deceased batarian along the unsanitary tide and hiding his corpse under the tree. With time bought, he sprang up out of the water and crept up to the side of the building, just out of reach of one of the side lights. He checked his surroundings, grasping his only functional weapon, an Elanus “Striker” Mark VIII heavy pistol.
With his left hand he produced his virtual Bluewire omni tool, and tapped a frequency in. This was dangerous, considering that omni tools had the tendency to glow, and thus were not too handy for night operations. He held the tool in front of him, the lights on the side of the building beginning to flicker, dim, and finally fizz out.
He was already on the move, climbing atop a garbage bin and scaling a gutter. Burke rarely showed or admitted it, but he was an expert acrobat. He rarely got the chance to show such a feat off, but this was an exception. The climb itself would have been impossible without the indention on the sides of the walls, which were plentiful. More than once did he find his feet and hands slipping, but fortunately, only one appendage went rogue at a time.
He grasped the ledge and railing, rolling over the side and breathing a sigh of relief. He stood up, checking the surroundings and spotting a rather enlarged objective marker, right on the quick cargo chute before him. He crept up to the chute, tapping in its key button and opening the covered entrance. Lastly, he hopped inside, closing the shutter and tapping the cargo lift button to the first story.
The shutter door opened, revealing much what he expected, and partly what he did not expect the interior architecture to look like. Directly outside of the chute’s exit was an out of order vending machine, two benches, and an extranet terminal. It was strange having a break area in the main operations area, especially on this floor. The area had a greenish tint, especially from one of the junctions that possibly led to another room. What was causing the green glow, he knew not.
His legs hung out, and he gingerly he stepped out, careful now that the lights had shone on him. He had discarded his helmet, disassembling and compacting it and placing it over his tailbone. The barrel of his pistol was pointed to wherever his direct line of sight wandered.
Burke was hairy man well into his thirties, brandishing a pair of distrusting brown eyes, dirt brown hair, and a full beard almost thick enough to absorb a blow to the chin. He stood six feet and two inches in height, his skin a slightly bumpy complexion. His green armor was currently coated with other green natural materials, and he noticed he was tracking mud into the building, the soles of his boots squeaking with every step he took. Beyond him he heard the voices of batarians muttering in their own language.
Chary, he rifled against the wall and peeked around the corner, unhesitatingly in awe at the absurdity of the sight. Apparently the cargo chute, the break room and the outpost operations center were connected to one another with no doors or security checkpoints along the routes. Either the batarians had concentrated most of the budget to perimeter defense, or they simply did not believe that it was possible that their stronghold would be compromised and infiltrated.
The room glowed a yellowish green from the various consoles and workstations. Two batarians hunched over the main map, blathering in their trade language or possibly their regional dialect. His turian partner was the one who happened to be the expert on alien lexicon, though he was nowhere to be found at the moment.
He was not sure if either of them were armed, so he stepped into the room in full view, beginning to initiate his own room-clearing tactic. The batarian he approached from behind was still speaking to the other and looking at the flat atlas, the latter catching sight of Burke and slowly craning his arm toward his pistol.
The encounter was over in a matter of seconds, both batarians neutralized as a result of a shot through the head. For Burke Craddock, luck was involved, since he was not exactly the best of marksmen. When it came to combat, he preferred to have as little distance between he and his adversaries as possible. What he excelled in though, was tactics, especially the small non-industrial weight endeavors such as covert operations.
His eyes scanned the available computer consoles, a menacing green saturating the room itself. He chaperoned alongside some until he spotted the correct one. With a few taps onto the screen, he shut off the automated anti aircraft batteries entirely. The foolish batarians did not even bother to password lock the cannons, something he had the proper countermeasures ready in his omni-tool for.
He then began downloading the schematics of the base from another console, which also was not encrypted. Afterwards, he withdrew himself, his pistol in hand and headed into the appropriate direction.
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The elevator hummed to a stop, its double doors hissing in their crevices as they spread apart, revealing the underground interior of the outpost. Burke squeamishly peeked his head around each corner, hearing distant sounds of mass batarian chatter, all deep and firm lipped.
The halls were a dusty gray, unkempt and mostly unwashed. His pistol was held forth as he hiked along the vestibules. Three of the four-eyed aliens, all unarmed passed by, laughing and jesting to themselves in their own tongue, Burke hid behind a trolley full of crates and waited for them to stray out of sight. Quickly, he continued his pace. His omni tool flashed the base schematics, detailing that he was indeed, close to his destination.
He sidestepped along the walls, a door made mostly of glass just to his left. A brow was exposed to peek into the area, a cafeteria full of batarians gorging away at their dinner. He quickly sprinted past it with his head hung low and his at his right hip. One of the storage rooms was just ahead, and he placed one hand on the glowing center panel, the blast door creaking open with a mechanical motion.
He closed the door behind him and rolled his eyes over canyons of crates and barrels. Burke’s back lurched forward and he crept around the area, seeing missives and manifests on top of the nearest cartons. Slowly, he reached for one of the glowing data pads, his fingers making contact with the thin material.
A cold, circular, metallic ring of metal made contact with the back of his neck, firmly planting itself on his top vertebrae. “No need to check those logs.” A harsh nasally voice pronounced. “There’s absolutely nothing in there that’s worth seeing by your devious human eyes… especially when they’re rolled back in expression of death.”
The gun barrel was removed from the back of his head, the voice immediately replaced by throes of puckish cackling. Burke slowly turned, crossing his arms and staring at a laughing turian. “If you’re making jokes on an assignment like this, there’s obviously something funny about what you found, Darius.” He retorted with his gravely brogue.
Darius Macerdin cleared his throat and shifted his weight, adjusting the sights on his tactical hybrid rifle. “Well, I’ve always wanted to do that to you anyway.”
“Spill the beans, did you find anything in this shithole or not?” The bearded human retorted, taking a few steps to the side.
The turian’s posture stiffened. “It may be a bit on the momentary side, but yes, right this way.”
Darius followed his human squadmate closer down the rows of stacked and shelved containers. “So what happened to you on the jump? Were there, er… complications?”
“There was a complication that landed smack in the kisser.” Burke informally replied.
“You mean your parachute?”
Burke’s head swirled toward the turian. “If you knew why did you ask?”
“I heard it through the begrimed and profane grapevine of batarian gossip when I was doing the vent shaft shuffle in the garrison.”
“Yeah, you’d be the one to listen. I still feel like I’m damned lucky the material the parachute was made out of didn’t conduct electricity.”
“That you are. Except that they thought it was one of the local razorbirds that got clipped by that thunderbolt. By the time I stole the keycard, I could still hear them arguing about whether or not they actually flew in the rain.”
“Glad to hear it.” Burke chuckled. “What’s this keycard for again?”
They both came to an unsettling clearing in the massive storeroom. There were several shelves and racks of boxes, rows upon rows that were completely empty in the particular section they were in. Burke stopped altogether and marveled at the ghostly feel of the place.
“I did some brief spelunking into the logs and ledgers just before you stepped in here.” Darius stepped in front of Burke, his eyes scanning the ceiling in a circular motion. “I confirmed the fact that this place used to be a VIP shelter, likely for one of the more powerful terminus system factions.”
“That’s what the floor plan I installed on my omni tool seems to say.” He spoke, bringing it up again with a flick of a wrist. “The bottommost floor is labeled VIP quarters.”
“Good find.” Darius nodded, peeking at the plan. “The datapads also stored some cryptic info.”
There was a period of silence that lasted a portion of a minute before Burke broke the silence. “My guess is that the info was censored by batarian higher ups.” He inspected one of the racks. They were shaped and sized to where they seemed like something one would see in a supermarket. “So, were our suspicions confirmed?”
“Yeah. If these guys aren’t small time interstellar terrorists, they’re obviously big time smugglers. Maybe both.” Darius spoke up, turning around and still marveling at the scene. “A massive shipment was made. Whatever was here before, was a lot of important and scary stuff, and if we were here 32 hours ago we would have seen what it was.” He looked back at his human squad mate. “I suggest we try to bag up all the intel we can find and get starside asap.”
“You never told me what the key was for.” Burke smirked.
Darius drew closer to Burke and pointed at his open omni tool map. “Mr. Craddock, I think they’re hiding something really damned important down in the main VIP quarters, and I think it will help us out a hell of a lot if we find it.”
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The five were gathered inside the “y” shaped VIP interior chamber, the atmosphere thick with cigar smoke that was puffed from the mouth of one of the four eyed beings, one with a reddish tint who sat at the massive desk. Two leaned against the desk, one an obese, puffy faced batarian and the other a human in maize yellow armor. Two guards with assault rifles stood at each of the doors that led to the elevator lobby and security checkpoint.
“I was promised to have a hearing with the staff.” The human barked. His worn yellow armor was stamped with a circular insignia resembling a burning sphere, a thin ‘E’ drawn within its unfilled center. “Instead you try to manipulate me with alcoholic spirits and cigars. We had a deal Aiorni!”
“Quit making violent hand gestures.” The fat batarian requested. “It makes me want to reach for my pistol when you flail your arms about.”
The human turned to him, a look of sublime anger plastered upon his face. “I wasn’t-“
“Mr. Campbell, don’t talk back to my chief of security.” The seated batarian spoke in between draws on his cigar. “Help yourself to one of the drinks in the minibar and state your final terms. This is getting tiresome.”
“Thank you general, but I won’t be drinking for the next couple of hours.” Campbell coarsely retorted, leaning back on the desk with both palms, giving the general a venomous glare that would have rusted metal. “That shipment you promised us... it was sent to someone else. Those are abysmal business tactics.”
“You never paid. And we were offered a better deal.” Aiorni retorted, reaching for the cigar cutter and fitting it onto the roasted tip, severing it from the unspent tobacco.
“Payment was not going to be in effect until an inspection of the equipment was made. The very reason I came here!”
“Listen Campbell…” The batarian began, standing up and placing the cigar back in his mouth, beginning to pace around the room. He was dressed in cheap heavy combat armor, with several commendation ribbons on the left side of his breastplate, most likely self-appointed. “…I’m a minuteman, not a businessman. But when I’m approached with 20% more credits than the offer prior, that’s a profit I could not imagine anyone would decline.”
A vein in Campbell’s forehead bloated, though the rest of his face remained as it were before. “And you buy liquor and cigars… where’s your caviar? Can I have some of that?”
The general’s free hand retreated into a fist, trembling as his blood boiled with barely contained rage. He then opened his hand into a palm and placed his cigar on, putting it out. His face grew noticeably pained, though it was overshadowed by sheer petulance. He then flung the wand of tobacco at the human, the commodity ricocheting off his armored collar and landing at his feet.
“Don’t you dare mock me, mercenary garbage. This contraband you see before you was a result of a bonus from our buyer.” He stepped toward a bottle of purplish scotch, grasping it by the neck and hurling it into the floor, where it shattered in fragments of violet liquid and glass. He then lunged a scrawny finger, which boxed Cambell’s armored chest with every word. “I sent 30% of the money we made to batarian colonial suffrage interests, to help starving and homeless migrants of my fellow race!” He retracted his stance slightly, panting heavily. “I’m not a goddamn pirate. I have standards and abide by a code of honor. I don’t prey on the suffering, take oil baths, or fornicate with asari prostitutes on piles of credit chits. I fight for batarian freedom, against those who wrongfully seize it from us. To me, apart from my rank, the 190 men under my command are exactly the same as I, just with a bed that is not as wide as mine.”
He turned his back to the armored ambassador, the chief of security had a smirk curled into his puffed cheeks, impressed with the speech of his sovereign. The two guards nodded to one another across the room in respect for their commander. The general continued shortly.
“The Systems Alliance is vehemently irritated by the Skyllian Blitz. They’ve already begun preparing for other assaults on our installations. Torfan, Getrowe, Romon Prime… they’ll all fall like dominos in time. I need to prepare my militia. I need to give them better equipment, better extranet speed, more than two square meals a day, and trading rights with other cells. This is the best opportunity I could ever imagine…” He heaved a sigh. “Now… do you, or do you not have any additional terms for today?”
The desk’s receiver beeped, signaling that one of the elevators to the VIP floor was being used. “Now who could that be, I told everyone that we were having a meeting.” The security chief groaned.
“Better wrap this up then.” The mercenary emissary’s brows were in a limbo, his arms crossed. “Well, I suppose the least you can do is tell me who beat us to the draw.”
“So you can seek them out and murder them and steal their possessions for yourself?” General Aiorni chuckled at the absurdity of the thought.
Campbell hissed in faint laughter. “Maybe. Especially if it’s one of our competitors, what sort of terminus faction would have the money to intercept a shipment of armored-“
The right blast doors beeped, a telltale sign that the keycard was being used. The security chief approached the door, along with one of the rifle carrying sentries. The door hissed open.
“Who is i-“
A scatter blast from a hybrid rifle sent the fat, confused security chief reeling on his back, three bloody holes shredded into both sides of his shirt. Another blast was fired into the batarian who barely had a chance to lift his rifle, horribly mangling his face. He began collapse on his rump, his legs sliding forward as the life drained from his body, and his assault rifle hand clutching the trigger, sending stray rounds into the ground, which tore a myriad of holes into the floor.
The three survivors in the room fired back, the other batarian guard being the first as he lashed out with a volley of automatic fire. By the time Aiorni and Campbell had drawn their pistols, they were mashing rounds into a closed door.
The left door beeped as the keycard was used, opening 50% of the way as a disk was thrown into the room, skidding just near the desk. The door sealed before their fire could be shifted in time, and the disc exploded with a blinding flash of light, and a horribly deafening roar.
General Aiorni lay on the floor wounded. He did not hear or see much in the seconds following the blast. He felt several rounds riddle him, some piercing his armor and sinking into his flesh.
His vision cleared, and he was staring at a pair of mud stained boots. His ears began to hear again, the faint voices of a human and a turian.
Burke Craddock stood over the wounded batarian as he sat up and grabbed the edges of his desk, trying to lift himself up. The peripherals of his recovering vision caught glimpses of Campbell and the others lying in puddles of blood adorn the floor.
“Bedrooms are clear!” Darius called from one of the rooms in the back.
Aiorni remembered flailing his arms about when the flash occured, but he didn’t think the pistol would land upon the desk. The upper pair of his eyes spotted it lying just in his reach. Burke’s pistol pressed against the back of his skull. “Got any documents? Datapads? Info?” He piped in question. “Can you tell me what was shipped out of here?”
“Why don’t you ask your human friends some questions…” Aiorni coughed as his wounds began to burn, and reached for his pistol, his fingers grasping the grip as he dragged it closer to himself. “Why am I here? What purpose do I serve aside from cheating other races out of their territory? Exploiting others… and harboring an embarrassing sense of entitlement.” He lifted his pistol up with a trembling hand, slowly turning to face Burke.
He was answered with a shot through the side of his head, the exit wound smearing a shower of gore upon his desk before he slid off the side and into the floor.
“Well so much for bloody questioning him!” Darius griped, looking around the room for another solution.
“I’ll check his desk, you check the bedrooms.” Burke blinked his eyes, his forearm mopping a layer of sweat off his brow as he rounded about the corner. “Look at all this liquor and… elcor cigars.” He chuckled, taking two of them, running them along his upper lip under his nose and placing them in a pocket on his shoulder.
As he heard his comrade rummaging through drawers and bed sheets in a dissonant manner, he circled the desk and peeked into the drawers, gathering their datapads and files and placing them in his back pocket. Something blue and circular caught his eye, and he stared at it for a bit. It was a button, obviously. Whether or not it was to signal the guards for help, he did not know, as it was not labeled as such. In fact, it was no labeled at all.
What did he have to lose? He rapped against it with his knuckle, and loud whirring of mechanical dynamos began to encompass his ears.
Burke peeked over the desk, and stood up slowly to see a section of the wall between the two doors and directly away from the center desk lift up. Darius poured into the room to see the commotion, staring at it, his mandibles twitching nervously.
The wall was inches thick in a heavy metal, in the interior inside this shell was throbbing with an eerie crimson light. When the wall finally receded into the ceiling, there was a chest high pedestal displaying a thin box that looked to be made of circuit board material, a handle located at the top of it.
The two approached the pedestal slowly. “You think we may have hit the jackpot, Darius?” Burke piped.
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Post by Cali on Feb 12, 2011 0:04:16 GMT 1
Chapter 3 – Retreat to the Sky _________________________________________________________________ Recommended Music:
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The general alarm was already blaring as Burke and Darius ran down the halls to the second elevator that led to the surface. Confused batarians poured out of their quarters, ill prepared to the point where some were unarmed. A few saw the two intruders sweep by in a blaze of rapid moving leggings, hugging the elevator wall, Burke slamming on the elevator key while Darius pointed his hybrid rifle at a mass of five batarians standing in the middle of the hallway and staring. They all fell back to various sorts of cover. Eventually, the only two armed terrorists fired upon the duo with rifle and pistol, covering their unarmed cohorts to buy them time to visit the armory.
The duo had a ten-inch vestige of metal beaming for their cover, attached near the first elevator door. Both returned fire in a nonbelligerent fashion, Darius switching his rifle to the rapid automatic mode. The batarians may have had superior cover, but the two privateers were well protected by their military shielding units.
The stopping power from one of the batarian’s pistols tipped Burke backwards for a few seconds, holding onto the wall and firing a total of eight more retaliatory shots until his pistol overheated. One of the shots passed through the pistol wielding batarian’s fingers, severed the plastic grip from his firearm, into his arm, and ended up finally exiting out of his elbow. He retreated to a corner where he huddled and babysat his wound.
The elevator door finally opened, Burke smacking the turian upside the head even as he still fired. He turned his body and sped to the elevator, more assault weapon rounds impacting into his kenetic barrier before he stepped in.
The door closed and began to ascend, Burke bending over and placing his hands upon his knees, exhaling.
“I wonder why it took them so long to find the bodies? You never were very good at hiding them.” Darius panted silently, a hint of laughter evident as he pat the strange red trinket at his side.
“Better question: What was an Eclipse mercenary doing there? Particularly a human…” Burke made a query, his face full and serious.
“Oh… that.” Darius murmured. “As for being human, batarian terrorists have a tendency to be hypocritical. Hell, all terrorists do. They’ll attach some strings that they could pull to anything, if it gives them an edge.”
“Yeah, but Eclipse aren’t known to be enthusiastic when dealing with terrorists.”
“Smuggling, Burkey boy. All they have to do is play the business card and they get straight to the bee’s wax. Street gangs do it quite often, even with their bitter enemies.”
Burke huffed and stared into space for a bit as the elevator rose. He had a horrid look of void in his eyes, an expression of avidity of some sort. He pressed a gloved finger to his earpiece. “Brook, we need a pickup here… spot is as was planned.”
There was a bit of silence. “Roger that, Burke. Out.” A static voice hissed in his earpiece.
The elevator came to a stop, the door opening. “Also, don’t call me Burkey boy. Brooklyn calls me that.” Burke droned.
“Right, Mr. Craddock. Right.” The turian nodded, darting out of the elevator and checking the perimeters. The hallways were filled with klaxons and spinning red lights. The two fled out, with intentions of reaching the top.
“Also, what happened to your Avenger?” Darius asked, eying his chewed up assault weapon.
Burke sighed. “Same thing that happened to my backpack.”
There was the sound of approaching footsteps, even with the alarms groaning.
He set down his things. “Give me that thing.” He asked pulling it free of his back. He flicked on his omni tool, tapping into its munitions and dynamos as he held it with one hand. He then placed a small sensor module near its trigger, and set in the middle of the floor.
“The old S.P.E.A.R. trick, eh?” Burke questioned, eying a staircase that led to the top.
“Damn right.” He picked the circuit board box up, as well as his hybrid rifle, and the both fled into the staircase. A group of armored batarians caught sight of them and opened fire, not before the door closed.
They all poured apart, some going outside to cover the exits, and three others following the direct approached to the stairs. One spotted the black painted avenger rifle laying in the middle of the floor, and one broke formation to bend down and reach it. As his hand moved near it, the rifle made a flatlining beeping, lights flashing on designated spots, before it exploded in a mass of fire and weapon parts, sending two batarians flying and rolling about.
The batarian lieutenant filed out of the garrison in the pouring rain, flanked by four of his men, and another officer. “I swear, I tried to contact the general twice about the AA guns being shut down and password locked, but he had his damned transmitter shut off. Now we have one technician and one officer confirmed dead, and several missing! The hell are the odds, anyw-“
A ship roared overhead, several terrorists ducking to cover. Some even went as far as jumping off the step bridges and immersing themselves into the stingy swamp. The lieutenant, despite being incredibly straight-laced, did not blame them, as there was no telling if this small craft was going to lob bombs upon them or not.
Instead, the heavy fighter braked, swinging around until its port side faced the edge of the building, no more than a few feet away from it. The side door opened, and the commando duo was running to it in the slick rain. The batarians had begun to fire back, the kenetic barriers on the craft absorbing the small arms fire.
Darius threw the circuit box into the entryway, standing on the ledge, leaping and catching the edge of the door with his elbows and hands, attempting to pull himself up.
Burke was the second to jump, with far more skill and effectiveness. His feet landed just ahead of the turian’s hands, and he squatted and lifted him up with both of his arms.
Brooklyn heard the door close behind them, the holographic images of shielding burned a hellish red, the kenetic barrier alarm beeping. Several clanking sounds began to pummel their hull like “Shields are down, let’s get the hell out of here!” Brook yelled, slamming the throttle and peeling into the sky.
The batarians continued fire, the heavy weapons team not making it out in time as the ship banked through the clouds, never to be seen by them again. The lieutenant grit his razorlike teeth, squeezing the grip of his pistol hard enough where a popping sound was audible.
A batarian with a rocket launcher, fell in line in the front. “Is… is he gone?”
The lieutenant answered by shooting the soldier in the shin, promptly turning and striding away.
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Post by Cali on Feb 13, 2011 4:15:55 GMT 1
Chapter 4 – Blue Ants _________________________________________________________________ Recommended Music
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The rusty interior of the decommissioned turian cruiser crooned and purred, the lights in the gangling hallways saturating triangular sections with a pale light. Most of the crew labored at their stations, but a minority patrolled or roused within them in singular instances.
Close to the bridge, the thriftless captain’s quarters were powerfully out of place in the former military battleship; sporting wooden paneled walls, a bowl of alien fruits upon a table, suite lamps, a circular bed, and even a mirror ceiling. The ship’s commander himself cloistered himself in the toiletry room, the bathwater running and filling near to the brim.
The turian stood at the edge, his blue and white armor sporting gold spaulders and the appropriate badge of rank. His skin was a brownish red, showing several battle marks on his facial shell, and an amulet made of silver or onyx was almost always seen wrapped around the front of his head.
General Ukoirnas switched off the faucet, the water swilling and stilling itself within the porcelain shell. The turian turned, grabbing a bail of datapads, omni tools, and computers, and dumped the contents into the water. There were several electric, static, and conventional discharges, popping bits of water about the bathroom as the trinkets sputtered and died a quick death.
In a military manner, he articulately performed an about-face and strut out the length of his quarters, heading toward drop hangar B.
The crowd of Blue Suns troopers and technicians fashioned a circle inside the hangar, sitting atop the wings of gunships and maintenance, and staring at the spectacle before them. A human and a shirtless batarian fought one another in a challenge of fists. The gawkers around them cheered and placed bets on each of the combatants.
For the past minute or two, they had been sparring and dancing around one another, their knuckles making contact with guarded prose and occasionally, the face of their assailant. Now they had grappled one another, attempting to seize their footing and pin each other to the ground with the occasional kick to the stomach. This contest of brute force was not of typical emotion passion or materialized from usual provocation. It was how the Blue Suns acted, as they were simply that physically and violently inclined. Quarrels and fights were means of normal communication within the paramilitary company’s ships and garrisons, and that was a single reasons out of many, as to why the Blue Suns were commonly labeled by typical galactic citizens as “philistine” or “barbarians”, and even “animals”.
The door at the far crust of the room slid open, the very presence of the general who entered through it sending all of the suns into a stiffened posture, a disciplined manner, and occasionally a military salute. Even the two combatants climbed to their feet, dabbing their bruises with the backs of their hand and standing firm.
Ukoirnas stopped at the edge of the circular crowd and nodded to his loyal subordinates, pacing along the lines at the toes of his men. “Let us cut the red tape and get straight to the point. We near our objective, prepare for battle.”
The order was extreme in promptness, and the general was already making a beeline toward the door. The men did not hesitate a second, and each of them raced to their positions, readying the dust off crafts and inspecting the equipment.
The select few were heading toward the drop pods with their incredibly special equipment ready for them within.
Batarian major Yardie hailed the presence of the general with a salute as Ukoirnas filed in through the door. The bridge officers tapped away at their stations, the engineering pit inhabited by sweating code monkeys and console tech officers, who mostly human and turian females. The higher section was inhabited by the navigators, forward gunners, pit bosses, and the female turian helmsman. All were dressed in full Blue Sun “Solar” Mark III medium armor, smacking away at their holographic keyboards and workstations.
All five of the Blue Suns ships entered the Gargon system’s relay, reflecting in their usual flamboyant blue and white colors. The three frigates, the light cruiser “Method” and the general’s heavy cruiser “Maul” neared the mostly icy world of Sargonis.
Within the bridge, Ukoirnas stood no more than three feet away from the window viewport after its shield doors slid open. The sight of the bluish ball of snow and ice was magnificent, though he always had adopted an affinity to the sights of space and astronomy.
He shifted his sight to Yardie, who stood behind, punching some notes into a datapad. “You know for certain that everyone is at their stations?”
Yardie nodded. “I checked on them myself, sir. Went to every hangar and all the quarters, companies Alfa through Kilo. Spoke with every single one of the XOs.” He looked ahead to the planet. “I manage to them that we’re still in Terminus system space.”
Ukoirnas bared the turian equivalent of a smile and pat the batarian on each of his shoulders. “That… is precisely why you’re my second in command.” He put all of his weight into a full embrace toward the major. Yardie was one of few officers Urkoirnas truly adored and trusted, and was satisfied with his proof of being a highly competent officer. Yardie though was quite modest, brandishing an ego the size of an acorn.
“Get me the fleet.” Ukoirnas removed his embrace lock and withdrew his stance to walk to the communications officer, tapping the receiver button and communicating to his crew. “Now here this, now here this. Crew and troopers of the Cyan Flotilla, beyond this moment there is no going back. Mr. Santiago and the rest of the directors have labeled us as partisans and renegades. Such angry pouting is nonsensical by every default, as we represent the last true life of the intrepid spirit of the Blue Suns. Vido has gotten coarse and spineless, seeking to profit for a sedentary operations rather than fully strengthening our organization. We are soldiers, not mercenary whores! You… and those standing beside you… keep in mind that they are the only ones you can truly call Blue Suns.
“Let me also remind you that now that you have set foot on these ships, there is absolutely no going back. We stand or fall together in this campaign.
“And what a better way to start than with a fine ribbon cutting of sorts. Today we will test our new weapons, manned by the best of you; those who have so quickly trained and fit into the steel chassis of the suits. Today is where history is made with us. We will leave no structure standing, and no inhabitant drawing breath. Carry out your duties, that is all.”
He nodded to the communications officer, then to Yardie. “Give the order.”
Yardie nodded, hiding his intense reluctance to do so.
The sky was never this clear… it was the perfect morning.
The turian child sped across the blanketed white moor, his father calling for him to return. He mentally banished his voice, leaping and rolling in the snow. His father was not far behind, following the tracks of his son.
“Arki! There you are.” He sighed, running toward him. The turian child merely sat up, confounding that the magic of the moment was liquidated.
His father sat in the snow beside him, playfully laughing and nudging him. “I know you’d love to play around out here some more, but today is a school day.”
“I know.” The child sighed, standing up and eying the sky. His tiny mandibles flung backwards as he swore he spotted a shooting star hurl from the sky.
The father saw it too, lifting the kid up and holding him at shoulder level. They both stared wordlessly, seeing others plummet from the skies as well. One appeared in the atmosphere, this one brighter than the others.
The drop pod impacted on the ground, no more than ten feet away from them. The force sent them hurling backward, rolling across the snow and sending bits of ice fluttering everywhere like loose change.
The child clamored to his feet, the father leaping up and shielding him as the door to the pod swung open, crushing the snow under it. Darkness resided in the chamber for several seconds before the burst of jets lit the interior up, four massive brutish looking humanoids made of steel burst forth, ascending in an organized manner.
The air was drawn out of their lungs at the shock of the sight, the father quickly scooping up his son and sprinting back down toward the city. A volley of rockets was fired, the air whistling as the projectiles hissed and burst on contact with the two, leaving none but steaming chunks and torn clothing separating from the impact site.
The trooper within the advanced prototype armor released his finger from the trigger, leaning forward on the throttle and following his armored cohorts to the small city that lay before them, more troopers pouring out of the heavens, and several bursts of fire and smoke formulating, panicked shrieks of the local populace saturating the air due to the horrid massacre that was currently taking place.
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Post by Cali on Feb 14, 2011 2:45:50 GMT 1
Chapter 5 – Brass Tacks _________________________________________________________________ Recommended Music
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The sky cab’s engines whirred like a timid blender within the chassis, the multi colored lights of the Citadel swirling past with elegant flares upon the glass. Other sky cars sped by in a controlled manner. Brooklyn Seltzer marveled at the spectacular visuals of such an epically proportioned space station, a comprehensive emotion sweeping through just to know that this long sky car trip was going to take them merely around three one-thousandths of its span. The lights reflected upon her dark brown eyes, her dyed copper hair tied into a bow at the back, her partial oriental ancestry showing in her facial structure. She was dressed in a black leather jacket, a blue undershirt, and fingerless gloves. Her legs were covered with blue naval trousers and field boots that she bought at a military surplus store a year prior.
Burke sat beside her, leaning back, his head resting against the leather seating, his eyes barely closed. He had trimmed his beard in the slightest for the current hearing. He was clad in an unremarkable shirt and trousers, and a black wool long coat. The rear passenger seats faced one another, Darius sitting across from him, dressed in an orange turian leisure suit.
The volus pilot leaned forward as the communicator on the bright blue dashboard flashed with the occasional red. “Citadel Transit, Car 327 here”.
“This is the council guard echelon, you are nearing the councilor apartments, identify and confirm your business and clearance, or you will be turned back.” The voice of a salarian crackled over the transmitter.
The volus did not respond, merely tapping in the codes that his passengers gave him and uploading them to the salarian.
There was a brief instance silence, the communications officer responding after a few seconds. “Verified. It seems that the Asari councilor has been expecting your passengers, Car 327. Council Guard out.”
“Same to you, asshole.” The volus hissed in his environment suit, pulling the throttle back and slowing the vehicle down as it neared the parking area of the councilor apartments.
The car hovered over its landing area, slowly descending as the cross shaped signal lights on the underside flashed red, running down the lines and into the center. The vehicle eventually touched down, and inside, Darius and Brooklyn stepped out, being eyed by three asari commandos with black armor and assault weapons. Burke had leaned forward, transferring the cab fare from his omni tool, and tipping him to remain there until the meeting was adjourned.
They approached the entrance of the lavish interior parking garage, the forward asari nodding to them and beckoning them to follow.
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The three edged fan at the ceiling of the lounge span counter clockwise, moving no more than a few miles per hour. The area sported yellow carpet that seemed to shine, and several sofas and ottomans, and a bar area. It seemed that in every corner there was a vintage vase, a piece of abstract art, or some sort of potted plant. Outside every door to the lounge, there were two guards flanking it. This types of meetings were supposed to be as secret as feasibly possible.
The human bar maid even warned them that if they wanted a drink, they would have to place an order quickly, because as soon as the councilor arrived she would be asked to become scarce. Brook had already ordered a glass of Heighliner, a popular human beer among spacers and colonists. Darius had brought forth a glass of green turian wine in one hand. In his other, he brought a glass of “Goddess Tears”, a cocktail that combined common asari rum, and a sports drink like Paragade or Tupari.
He set them down on the coffee table, Burke leaning over and grabbing the glass of goddess tears and swirling it around with the tiny straw. “You know…” Brooklyn broke the silence with a firm whisper. “I didn’t think an important meeting with one of the most powerful persons in the galaxy would turn into a cocktail party so quickly.”
“We’ve been gone for a while and this is the first decent drink we’ve had.” Darius piped, sipping the moss green wine. “It adds up to the fact that we’re privateers. Practically legitimized pirates. It’s in our nature to consume copious amounts of alcohol and sing songs about space battles.”
Burke had already hammered down one third of his drink, placing it back on the table. “Yeah, except what kind of horrible space shanties are we good at singing?”
“None.” Brooklyn added, sending all three of them in a crescendo of laughter. The rearmost door swung open, revealing the asari councilor and a salarian who stepped in. Each of the privateers shelved their laughter, and set their drinks down. Each of them standing up and facing the councilor, bowing their head respectfully. The bartender did the same before stepping out, exiting out the door that she came from.
“I see each of you is well adjusted to my lounge.” She bowed her head back in a respectful manner, or as respectful as she could toward a trio of former convicts. “I will have to skip the debriefing and inform you that something horrible has happened when you were away at your mission, and judging by the data you forwarded us, it’s directly related to the subject matter you were investigating on Golmes.”
The trio shot one another suspicious glances.
“This is Admiral Juib Harxton, the new chief of salarian naval intelligence.” Each of the freebooters shook hands with the plainclothes salarian admiral, who smiled and murmured a few greetings toward each of them. His other arm held a projector or computer of some sorts, which he made a beeline for the coffee table, placing the projector atop it and adjusting a few settings on his omni tool.
“I suppose you’ll be so inclined to inform us of this ill deed, admiral?” Burke queried as he sat down, Brooklyn slightly irked by his lack of respect, even though it was not unusual.
“To put it bluntly, it’s a horrible crisis.” The asari councilor interrupted, answering for him. This only tickled the intrigue of the three privateers.
“A turian colony was assaulted by unknown assailants, and we lost complete contact with it. Possibly by a batarian faction from what we’re hearing.” Harxton finished the sentence.
There was no shortage of wide eyes and shock from the crew of the Panera. “Shit...” Burke huffed. “This… really could start a war.”
“Who, wha- how? Where?” Brooklyn scratched the top of her head, a confused expression in her eyes.
“It occurred on the colony of Sargonis, located in the Gargon system of the Triple Eagle Cluster. It’s the closest turian colony to the terminus systems, which would provide an explanation as to why it was chosen for an assault. Two distress signals were sent, and each time the Hierarchy armada tried to call them, no one bothered to answer.” The admiral tapped into his omni tool. “This is the first transmission that was sent out from the colonial marine garrison.”
The projector flashed static, revealing the holographic image of a turian, followed by a half calm, half frightened voice accompanied by the sounds and sights of battle. “Sargonis port to Heirarchy fleet, this is a priority one distress call. The colony is being assaulted, I say again, the colony is being assaulted. They are attacking civilians, and the local infantry has reported thirteen dead, and nine wounded… me included. They are well armed, and well equipped, COULD SOMEBODY GET A VISUAL ON ONE OF THOSE FUC-“
The image froze, and the admiral flicked his omni tool once more. “The second transmission does not have any video feed, and the fighting seems to have died down.”
A blank holographic light shined through the projector, merely showing a bar which documented the length of the recording. The turian from before spoke, sounding genuinely exhausted, and locked in a delirious monotone. “Sargonis port, to Heirarchy fleet command… there is a hole in the command building, and I’m lying right near the edge… the fresh water lining has been hit… and has flooded nearly half of the city. All of the buildings are either… on fire… full of holes, or… demolished… the battalion commander was killed when the roof collapsed… I tried… to pull him free… but he suffocated under the weight… the flood is washing bodies into the plaza below… one of them was halted by… a lamppost… its back arched against it… they are all badly burned or dismembered… I am missing my right leg… severed just above the knee… it was on the edge of the hole in the building… and it just now… fell… I can see it… floating… in the water… down the moving current… it just stopped against that same… turian… I can’t tell who it is… its missing most of its torso… and has a badly burned face… the enemy dropships are leaving… extracting their belongings and… the savages who massacred us… I can see the wind…” The sound of a sudden explosion jolted the three privateers. “…the chemical factory just burst… I can see the wind blowing smoke towards me… it’s getting closer… and closer… I can’t see anything now…”
The rest of the transmission was just the sound of howling wind and distant collapsing buildings, accompanied by pathetic whimpering coughs. Admiral Harxton fast forwarded the transmission, which judging by the time bar, was only a tenth of the way over before he paused it. “It’s mostly silence and him coughing from here on. Listen very closely to this last bit I’m going to show you.” The salarian said.
The coughing had grown wheezy and dry, and shouted something in between the coughs before utter silence apart from ambient noise took place. Burke’s ears went back halfway on his head, the hairs on his neck twisting. It sounded faintly like “Blue Suns”.
“Well… uh… that was not creepy or anything.” Darius nervously laughed in his usual deep voice.
Each of them found themselves picking up their drinks, sipping them with rapid resolve. “Did he say Blue Suns?” Burke immediately threw the question out as he held the held the cocktail at his side.
“That’s what we believe.” Harxton nodded, the councilor stepping past him and staring out the window to the rest of the citadel, viewing the five arms in their entirety. “We have also managed to tap into the automated records, local surveillance managed to catch two clear images of the attackers.”
The projected revealed a flat image, one Darius had to lean to the side to see. The first was a black and white image, most likely from a camera attached to the side of a building. Fleeing turians were seen, breaking away from a pursuing armored humanoid sporting a massive weapon. A cluster of corpses lay near him, a police vehicle clearly on fire. The second image was clearly a more ascended shot, showing several burnt out buildings, an explosion in the distance, and around ten of the suits flying overhead, using some sort of aerial thruster pack.
“We have also confirmed that the VIP shelter you raided on Golmes belonged to the turian hierarchy.” The councilor had stated, still staring into the cusps of the astronomical horizon. “Some of those massive armored humanoids you see were the items that were sold.”
The admiral placed his hands behind his back and cleared his throat. “They were part of a turian military project, titled ‘War Drum’. The project was so secret, that the hierarchy did not even declassify it to the Council itself until after it was abandoned. The general populace still doesn’t know.”
The councilor continued. “Some of them were manufactured within the belly of the facility you raided, years and years ago after the hierarchy ditched the operation.”
Burke could not believe what he was hearing. “Please tell me you’re joking.”
“In the name of God… why?” Brooklyn’s eyes twitched. “Why would they abandon it?”
“One reason being that Golmes’ parent nebula was purchased by a terminus faction, hence why a batarian terrorist cell eventually had seized control of the facility.” The councilor explained, walking to one of the vases and withdrawing a single blue flower from it, inspecting it and running a finger along its petals. “The other was that War Drum’s funding was completely cut, and they did not even have sufficient resources to withdrawal the armor and other equipment. They considered detonating the armor, and even orbitally bombarding the station. Though the way the facility was designed, that could not have been properly executed.”
“That is a cluster fuck of astronomical proportions.” Burke’s hand was over his face. He then brought the cocktail glass to his lips, downing the rest of it. The others also began to consume their drinks at an escalated pace. “How many people were stationed at that colony, and how is the hierarchy reacting?”
“The other councilors and I have been pressuring and stalling the hierarchy to not declare war in any way possible. There were seven hundred and forty six colonists in the city, which is why the turians are furious. There are several life signs being read, implying survivors, but there is yet another complication.”
The councilor nodded to the salarian admiral, who nodded back. “Yes, two turian frigates were sent to the system, and we have recently gotten reports of an unstable energy signature from the frigate sensors. One associated with an elevated optimal neutron discharge emitter, to roughly speak.”
“Oh damn… a bomb?” Darius questioned.
“Aye. A neutron based explosive device that kills all living things, but leaves structures standing. One capable of eradicating everything within a 60 mile radius.”
“Goddamn, it’s practically a nuclear device.” Brooklyn sighed. “And a suit of powered armor that can take out an entire city that quickly…”
The councilor placed the flower back in its spot and returned to the circle, sitting on one of the sofas. “This is a dangerous gamble to ask you to undertake, but we will double your usual hazard pay for this.”
“Here we go…” Darius whispered under his breath, placing his empty glass on the counter and sitting back.
“We need each of you to travel there and diffuse the bomb so that the armada can touch down.” The councilor spoke. “Any evidence you can find to prove it was the Blue Suns that were behind the attack would be highly beneficial, since they are not technically an official terminus faction, and war could not be declared on the Terminus systems.”
Burke laughed in a hearty and sinister manner. “Yeah, we really are that expendable, aren’t w-“
“Burke would you show some goddamned respect?!” Brooklyn shouted under grit teeth. The mercenary before her frowned and nodded in embarrassment.
The councilor placed her hands in her lap and leaned forward. “I’ll tell you what, if you get to the bottom of this crisis, consider each of your names cleared entirely. You won’t be forced to work for us again, if you do not desire to.”
All three of them were silent for an entire minute after that last statement, each for their own reasons. “You’re… you’re about ready for that?” Darius asked.
“This is the most desperate situation we have asked you to participate in… it would be savage of us to not make it worth your trouble.” The councilor stood up.
Burke looked at the others, each of them nodding. Brooklyn stood up. “Very well. We, the crew of the Panera, accept the mission.” She announced, her voice implying a robust deal of reluctance.
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Post by Cali on Feb 15, 2011 21:46:45 GMT 1
Chapter 6 – Dystrophy _________________________________________________________________ Recommended Music
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Sailing through the high aether at faster than light travel, the crew of the Panera mingled about the cramped interior as the ship’s controls were currently in the possession of the automatic pilot. Burke had disassembled his striker pistol and was oiling the firing mechanism with the standard cleaning kit. About three feet away, Darius and Brooklyn fumbled with the automated mortar turrets that were to be deployed with the mission. The turian was concerned with the hydraulics and movement in the one he was working on, while Brooklyn was wrapping up the finishing touches on the remote calibration.
The Panera was an aging converted ‘Broadsword’ class fighter corvette that originally belonged to the salarian fleet, designed for both assaulting capitol ships as well as planetary bombing and strafing. Extremely maneuverable and brandishing an arsenal of torpedoes, missiles, and a LAMAC (Light Automatic Mass Accelerator Cannon), it proved to be a capable instrument of warfare in the hands of the right pilot.
The waning novelty of the ship weighed in with obnoxious reminders, such the various flaws with the half pathetic drive core stuffed in the back. The fuselage occasionally had the tendency to creak during FTL drives, and the air conditioning was either too cold or too hot most of the time, inciting Brooklyn to break into an occasional sweat. These blemishes and pitfalls aside, the Panera had served its crew quite well, and swept its troupe out of several hairy situations.
The interior was sufficed to say, somewhat cramped. There was a table near the back where they ate their meals, a supply room full of perishables in the underside, the captain’s quarters near the stern, and the three cryo bunks near the front. It was all shoddy and disorganized to say the least, and most of the lights had to be shut off to ration the constantly abstained power supply, leaving only colored glowing or a single light in the interior. For most individuals in the galaxy, this would invoke inflamed bouts of cabin fever or claustrophobia. The Panera’s crew did not mind in the slightest, however.
“Ever wonder why we never cut and run and start working for the terminus factions again?” Burke broke the silence and ambient rattling of air units and clicking the trigger of the disassembled pistol and inspecting the bare firing mechanics. They were all huddled on the floor behind the cockpit, surrounded by weapons, equipment and accessories. Burke and Brooklyn both dressed in standard slacks and sleeveless shirts, the formers being a pale brown and Brooklyn’s being red.
Brooklyn and Darius answered in immediate near-unison, not making eye contact. “Because the terminus factions are vile and corrupt?” “Because they’d send someone after us that’s much meaner than us, like a Spectre?”
Burke merely nodded, picking up the discarded barrel of the pistol and rubbing the scrubber through it. “Still wonder if we’d be put in harm’s way to a degree such as this.”
Darius sunk his head toward his breast and howled with laughter. “That was a good one… wait… you were joking right?”
Burke stood up, his eyes clearly soaked in an aching melancholy, and sinking depression. He placed the weapon parts as well as the maintenance kit at his feet, stepping over the other weapon parts. “I’m gonna go take a break. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
The remaining two ceased what they were doing and observed Burke disappeared into the head, grasping a duffel bag that lay on the table. The door closed behind him, and Darius’ jaw sank, his head turning to Brooklyn.
“How long has he been on that stuff?” He whispered as audibly as possible.
Brooklyn did not answer, merely packing up the mortar turret after she completed the work on it.
Darius stood up, moving in front of her in an attempt to block her. “Last mission I went on with him he had the same weird look in his eyes. Do you ever do anything to stop it? He can’t keep putting that stuff into his body!”
A crooked frown was evident on Brook’s face as she hung her head low, placing a thumb and forefinger on each of her temples. “I’ll talk to him about this later, both of us can… but if we make him stop now it’s going to do more harm than good.
Inside the near chrome bathroom, Burke fumbled with his duffel bag. Unintentionally, he found himself withdrawing a plastic envelope, unpacking its single content. It fell into the dry sink with a harsh clank. It was his old photo projector, in the shape of a portrait. He withdrew it, placing on the flat surface and switching it on.
The first was the most recent image, the photo of the crew taken planetside as they huddled around a crashed probe, their firearms held out in exaggerated poses. He glanced at it with a hint of nostalgia as he spotted the old traits. This was back when both Burke and Brooklyn were still chain smokers, as was evident with the cheap cigarettes hanging out of their mouths. The picture still showed Darius’ Onyx mark I armor, which was replaced with his current mantis armor. There were also minor details, such as his striker pistol being unpainted, Brook’s hair being partially dyed blond, and Burke’s beard still in the five o’clock shadow stage.
His finger rapped the buttons, switching the pictures back into his early childhood. His mother and father caught on camera, still alive and baring warming, and toothy smiles.
It was difficult to spear down, but Burke could feel an emotion he could not describe. He knew for sure it combined blissful melancholy and a sense of mellow incompleteness. He was waiting to see if he was going to burst into tears, but that moment never arrived.
He withdrew the plastic bag full of asari made red sand, pouring some of its contents into a medical hypo syringe, mixing its liquid supplement and closing it. He then sat on the closed toilet seat, placing a spike behind his elbow, the stimulating narcotics sinking into his veins and taking Burke into a brief itinerary of specious excitement.
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Post by Cali on Feb 17, 2011 23:48:37 GMT 1
Chapter 7 – Knee Deep in the Dead _________________________________________________________________ Recommended Music
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The Panera fell out of FTL transit exactly twenty-six minutes later. Beforehand, Darius hauled the mortar turrets below to the back ramp, where the deployment catapults would do the remainder of the work to drop them on the battlefield. Burke had emerged from the bathroom earlier, Brooklyn immediately spotting his dilated pupils and more rapid motor functions she passed him by on their way to the pilot’s seat.
The duo of turian frigates basked in space just out of reach of Sargonis’ atmosphere, one of them clearly activating its thrusters in order to whip around and claim a head start in case the Panera happened to be a bogey.
“Unidentified fighter, this is Commander Waldorn of the Turian Armada, please classify yourself or you will be destroyed.”
Brooklyn immediately began punching the digits of the verification codes into the communications console, while Darius and Burke lingered in the two passenger’s seats, both assembling their weapons. “Yep, that’s my armada.” Darius piped. “If they aren’t thinking with their oversized and overpowered mass accelerator cannons, they’re acting directly on their behalf.”
The clearance codes were uploaded, and Brooklyn had the chance to marvel at the dark bluish glow of the night cycle half of Sargonis, the sun directly on the horizon and pouring dawn near their destination.
”Clearance codes verified, Panera. Good luck, and for the love of whatever God that you believe in, be careful down there.”
“Oh how nice that he’s concerned about us.” Burke mocked in a sing-song voice, cocking his Striker pistol, and as Brooklyn began their descent into the planet’s cold atmosphere.
“Doubt it. I’d guess he just doesn’t want the surviving colonists to get evaporated by an exploding neutron bomb.” Brooklyn replied.
”You know your channel is still open, Panera, and I can hear you?”
“Yes, we know.” Brooklyn tongue and cheekily reply just before she closed the line. The sound of the turian commander’s groan was audible just for a split second before the frequency was shut.
“Pretty smooth, Brook. That was like sticking your hand in the fireplace and cooling it off in boiling water.” Burke leaned over and nudged her, where she responded immediately with a repugnant hand gesture.
The sky was absolutely clear when the Panera touched down, a refreshing departure from the terrorizing weather they had a habit of venturing into. No close observation was needed to see that there were quite a few establishments still engulfed in flames, or spewing smoke. There were only two buildings in the city that could be classified as skyscrapers, both of them riddled with holes, their windowed frames shattered. Much of the damage, particularly the nearest skyscraper, looked like it could have only been caused by a large ship or frigate, which did not help assuage the constant suspicion.
Brooklyn had dropped her two associates at the southeastern edge of town, where the unfriendly energy signature was the strongest, and the bomb was possibly located. They filed out and into the street in between two large apartment complexes before the Panera lifted off further up, and ascended further atop. The two mercenaries checked their perimeters and made sure they weren’t in the dead center of someone’s crosshairs. The street had the stench of the dead that littered it, most of them scorched or dismembered. The wind howled and the structures creaked and burned, creating an unsettling atmosphere. Each of their weapons was fitted with a motion detector that showed in small holographic interfaces.
Their ear-pieces crackled. ”You two oughta know, bomb is inside a large conveyor vessel that touched down to the northwest. There’s also this warehouse or factory of some sort about a third of a mile north of you that’s displaying a ton of life signs. Listen, I’m seeing some folks moving up the street toward it, as well as a single combat vehicle.”
“Turians?” Burke responded, holding his pistol outward, taking the lead as they ran along the street in the gutter, closely huddling toward abandoned skycars and ground vehicles for cover.
“I don’t know, they’re awfully far awa- oh, SHIT-“
Both looked up, seeing the Panera in the near distance as it swerved in boomerang movements, a missile following on her tail. Countermeasure flares were shot out of the stern, leading the missile toward the ground, where it detonated with a rumbling boom kilometers away to the west.
“Brook! You alright?!” Burke shouted with one hand on his earpiece.
”Screw this, I’m not getting anywhere near there until you rub those bastards out.” Brooklyn yanked the Panera around halfway between her cohorts and the opposing party, the back ramp dropping out and a turret plummeting on top of one of the apartment buildings, where the automated mechanics deployed itself. The Panera then whisked off and burst toward the south, its engines shrieking overhead.
“Roger that Panera, well let you know when the way is clear.” Darius tapped his earpiece, leading the way. “Who could they be?”
“Pray that it’s not batarian terrorists, or our bonus is probably forfeit.” Burke had replied, checking the disc grenades along his belt. “We can probably cut through that apartment over there.”
“Probably the safest stance, considering the climate.” Darius added, crossing the street warily.
The interior of the apartment building was near sightless and rumbling with the wind entering through its occasional gaping hole. Due to the lack of power, the interior hallway they were in held a surfeit of darkness, requiring the aid of torches from their omni-tools. The lodging was somewhat bargain, mostly bland metal interior with carpeted floors and such. Archetypically, turians were never known to have a keen sense of style.
“Why, oh why did you bring your trench coat and not your armor?” Darius pondered in statement, checking open apartment doors and every corner possible.
“To be honest I didn’t think we’d be running into goons with rocket launchers and armored vehicles.” Burke replied. His Tornado shotgun was drawn, rather than his striker pistol, holding the small but bulky weapon with one hand as his left sported the omni tool flashlight. “But at least I brought my shield unit.”
“And it’s not like you to prepare for the worst? Don’t you remember Akeron V?” Darius chuckled, covering his the back with his hybrid rifle.
“Now that was a mission for the ages.” Burke recollected with a smirk. “More like a fiasco for the ages, am I right?”
Darius’ motion tracker flashed a single reading, the turian’s right hand releasing itself from the grip as he held his hand to his side, just away from his head, signaling a halt.
A flashlight and footsteps came out of one of the open apartment buildings, a tall and intimidating figure emerging with a backpack over his shoulders. It was a turian, and a very tall and broad shouldered one too.
“Hold it.” Burke whispered loudly, shining the flashlight on him and slowly walking up to the massive turian and sticking the shotgun to his ear. The turian sighed, holding his arms up as the human mercenary confiscated the pistol that was at his belt.
“Take your backpack off.” Burke demanded again. “Slowly.”
“It’s full of water bottles.” The turian’s voice was more higher in pitch than either of them expected.
“I said remove it.” Burke demanded once again.
Gingerly, the turian dropped the backpack off his shoulders, Burke catching it with one hand and openening it, shining the flashlight into its interior. It was indeed, chock full of bottled water and a few snacks.
“Ah, shit.” Darius walked closer to his fellow turian, shining his light on his striped purple suit, seeing several digits upon his back. “This asshole’s an escaped convict, Burke.”
Burke’s mustache inched together close as his face contorted into a suspicious scowl. He dropped the backpack on the ground and reached for his shotgun yet again. “You with those hooligans that are marching up north?”
“You mean those uptight suckers in piss yellow armor?” The turian asked, his hands still up. “No.”
“Yellow armor?” Burke repeated.
“Eclipse?” Darius spoke aloud.
“Dunno, they’re mostly asari and humans. Think I saw a few salarians with them, too.” The convict explained.
Burke turned away from the convict toward Darius. “What the fuck are the Eclipse mercs doing here Darius?”
“What’s your name, prisoner?” Darius questioned again. “Do you know what happened here? What were your charges?”
It occurred to Darius that he hadn’t been watching the prisoner’s hands, as they somehow got a hold of the pistol that was confiscated from him. With great strength, Burke was pistol whipped in the gut and pushed into the middle of the hallway, pulling him backward just a little and using him as a human shield.
“My name’s Avin Pardo. I’ve been accused of many things, and I suppose you can say pickpocketing is one of them.” The turian laughed heartily, reaching over and picking up his backpack. “I think it’s time I was on my way, so if you gentlemen would excuse me.”
A few seconds later, Pardo disappeared into the darkness, Darius running over to his comrade and watching his back.
“That son of a-“ Burke checked his belt. Everything beside the confiscated pistol was still on his belt, nothing else stolen.
“Okay, that was bad vigilance for both of us on our part. I’m as guilty as you were on that. The guy’s obviously long gone.” Darius called out from beyond the hallway, confirming that Avin was no longer in the building.
“Did you see the size of that crazy bastard, he must have been like, seven and a half feet tall?” Burke followed him, his tornado shotgun once again drawn.
“Yeah, he was almost as big as a krogan. And believe me when I say this, but I’ve seen a lot of tall turians… but that guy…”
The light poured in ahead, and they came upon the back of the apartment building, most of it shot out or destroyed. Clearly, the could see that directly ahead, no more than a few meters away, was the column of soldiers from before, indeed Eclipse Mercenaries.
They both quickly snuck past their sight, crouching under the blown out windows of the apartment lobby. The rumbling of a slow armored vehicle was evident as Burke checked his omni tool, tapping into the frequency of the mortar turret that was set on top of the building beside the one they were in.
“Yeah, the firing path is clear. No obstructions.” Burke whispered aloud.
“Movement counts around ten, no eleven of them.” Darius turned his head toward Burke. “What do you think… Eclipse mercs aren’t the most reasonable of people, and for all we know they actually could be behind this.”
Burke nodded as he sat under the windowsill. The Eclipse mercs were close enough to them to where they could clearly hear them talking about their birthdays. “Plus they’ll still be around if we don’t ice them now.” He grasped one of his grenades, the high explosive fitted one and nudged his squad mate. “Go over a few windows, I’ll take out the vehicle and unleash mortary hell on ‘em, you gun the rest of them down.”
Darius’ mandibles twitched in anticipation. “Give ‘em hell, Burkey boy.”
“The hell did I tell you about calling me that?” Burke groaned, Darius already gone and moving gingerly to the far side of the lobby.
Burke peeked over the sill, using his omni tool motion tracker to mark their movements. He tossed the disc grenade into the middle of the street near where the vehicle was rolling up, then ducked back. If any infantry saw this, they were not reacting momentarily. He then began tapping into his omni tool.
In a few seconds, the mine under the armored vehicle detonated, a mortar round springing from the sky and impacting into the column of Eclipse infantry. Darius and Burke popped up from cover, and prepared to unleash hell.
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Post by Cali on Feb 19, 2011 4:33:57 GMT 1
Chapter 8 – Fish in a Barrel _________________________________________________________________ Recommended Music
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Another mortar had detonated on the far side of the street, the concussion of the detonating munitions sweeping an asari sentinel off her feet and tossing her through a shop window. Another one of her Eclipse brethren, a human rifleman had his foot torn asunder by shrapnel, being knocked on his back by the force of the explosion, writhing and bleeding on the ground.
Both Burke and Darius’ weapons blasted incessant chimes, signaling that their weapons had overheated. They both adopted cover, Burke switching windows as the fire was drawn to the one he had just shot out of. In less than 30 seconds, two Eclipse troopers lie or dying, and four wounded. One of which was a human engineer who rolled around clutching her bloodied armor carapace that Burke’s pistol had penetrated with a shot to the ribs. The first kill had been an Eclipse trooper carrying a large missile launcher that looked too big for him to carry, and he was unfortunate enough to be a mere few feet away from Darius’ window when the ambush had begun.
The combat vehicle’s front sank into a dent in the road. Two the axels had been ruptured, and one of the front wheels had popped off entirely. The engine’s radiator had been damaged at the core, and the frontal rough terrain jets on the underside had their fuel lines fractured, making it practically impossible for it to move in any way without repair. The Eclipse infantry had been separated into two squads as Darius continued to pin them down with automatic fire after his rifle had cooled. A squad of four, including two of the wounded huddled behind a large fallen chunk of rubble, cramped together away from the line of fire like armored sardines. The other group, this one of three, called out from the safety behind the disabled armored vehicle, trying to figure out a way to link up with the wounded.
One mercenary had stuck his head out too far, and caught one of Darius’ shots that penetrated his visor and sunk into his brain, falling on his knees, quivering, and then flat on his face. The rest of the mercenaries were blind firing their weapons, putting each side in a bitter stalemate at the moment.
Craddock placed a finger on his earpiece as he heard and felt a round tear off a chunk of the windowsill just above his head. “Brook, this is Burke. We took out the anti air support, but we kinda need some fire support down here!”
”Be there in a jiffy. Hold steady.” The last few mortars fell into the street with defeaning explosions. The turrets fire was not accurate enough to do any decent damage against the entrenched Eclipse troopers. Burke checked his motion tracker briefly, seeing that two more figures were on the move through the side window, which was covered and barricaded by a large data shelf. It was most likely an auxiliary recon team, likely having the intention of sneaking from the side and getting the drop on them.
Burke holstered his pistol and grasped the Tornado shotgun. The model he used did not have a modern built in heat sink, requiring disposable models to be used, thermal clips as they were called. Four were loaded inside the weapon, allowing two shots each to be fired in a semi automatic fashion, the pump on the underside changing the clip. This increased the firepower of any weapon, but reduced its reliability and tactical longevity in a combat situation, unless the wielder had any off hand thermal clips to spare.
Burke’s free hand yanked the shelf to the floor, exposing the exterior, and two Eclipse troopers. A human with an assault rifle turned his head, surprised, not long before a close-ranged shotgun blast from Burke bore a hole into his chestplate. The other teammate, this one a salarian engineer, flinched as his bloodied comrade fell onto the ground. He had been caught midway in deploying a combat drone when a second blast from Craddock’s tornado shotgun flipped him over on the side, rounds penetrating his skull and chest.
The vehicle’s turret sprung to life, quickly turning to face the apartment lobby. Darius muttered a few obscenities as he dived to the side and crawled away. Burke had only just ducked in time when several heavy machinegun rounds began chiseling the inside and outside of the building in a high spray volume. Burke fell back, rolled against the wall, and cocked his shotgun, releasing a steaming thermal heat sink which span in mid air and was shattered by a stray round from the vehicle’s gun.
Both of the privateers began ducking under fire, trying to crawl away as bits of rubble and twisted metal burst off the sides, bouncing off Darius’ armor or in Burke’s case, sticking to his wool trenchcoat. The morale of the Eclipse troopers had just peaked like a grand day at a stock exchange, popping from cover and laying down as much fire as possible on the building side.
The Panera had swung over the street top, just above the buildings and antennas of the city, and unleashed a volley of heavy mass accelerator rounds, semi automatic, onto the column of Eclipse troopers below. The vehicle’s turret burst in a fiery explosion, causing the already wavering yellow armored guns to shift their fire into the air. One trooper suffered a direct hit and shattered like a burnt pot with a single round.
“Fall back! Let’s get the hell out of here!” The asari commander yelled, grasping her rifle and retreating along with the others, the wounded already had been treated with medigel. The two privateers had popped their heads out of cover, picking off as many fleeing mercs as they could before they disappeared.
Brooklyn sat in the cockpit and released the finger from the trigger on the control stick, her free hand flipping her targeting monocle up. “Sorry about the delay guys, had a bit of trouble finding the street name. You all alive down there?”
“No, Darius and I killed each other.”
”Har dee har, har.”
Brooklyn smiled warmly, not admitting that she happened to be a little worried about them. “Well listen, I probably think you two already know that these characters are Eclipse. But they have their own transport conveyor parked to the northwest, and that’s where the bomb is.”
”So we’d better get over there.” Darius replied.
“Not so fast, linking up with the colonists is our first priority. I saw two of them on the roof of the factory I told you about, waving towels. I think they were colonial marines.” She tapped the main control screen a few times, swinging the corvette around and facing the opposite direction of the street.
Darius grumbled. ”Fine. But tell them I’m not giving them my rations, even if they need it.”
On the ground, the two privateers filed out of the apartment complex and into the street. “You always were pretty uptight about your food supply, Dare.” Burke smiled, stepping over a corpse that leaned against the burnt out vehicle.
”I’ll meet you over there. Want me to pick you up and take you there?” Brooklyn queried, lowering the ship in the slightest.
Burke heard the vehicle’s hatch open beside him. “Thanks, that’d be great.” He replied, grabbing his pistol and swinging it around. The sights were lined at a half delirious human mercenary, who emerged with a bloody nose and mouth, his eyes half closed, and his hands over his head when he saw the barrel in his face.
Darius nodded his head toward Burke, who placed a hand on his earpiece. “Well, well, Miss Seltzer. I think we may have an additional passenger today.”
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Post by Cali on Apr 1, 2011 6:17:57 GMT 1
Chapter 9 – Welcome Wagon _____________________________________________________ Recommended Music:
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The Panera descended onto the top of the structure, where two turians with military grade weapons and armor stood and stared through the exposed cockpit window. The wind blustered as the artificial gravity engines carried the heavy fighter as it began to nestle on the roof of the facility.
The landing gear retracted, the stands flattening on the roof, and Burke and Darius filing out with the Eclipse prisoner, the former nudging his neck with a pistol.
“Stay here with him Darius.” He spoke into the ear of his turian squadmate in order to be audible over the whining engines of the Panera. Burke holstered his pistol and waved at the two turian marines that stood by the union boss’ office, which was practically built on top of the roof.
“We appreciate the assistance, but who the hell are you folks?!” One turian with a sniper rifle yelled over the engines of the Panera, which were just now starting to relax.
The human tapped into his omni tool and showed a flat holographic display of his credentials. “Burke Craddock, I’m a mercenary working for the citadel council! Same goes with my associates Darius Macerdin and Brooklyn Seltzer!” Burke lifted one hand over to the Panera as its captain began shutting down its engines.
The turian with the sniper rifle nodded. “Sergeant Idenkin, 798th colonial marine battalion! There’s only six of us left, and we’ve been holding out and protecting the surviving colonists inside the factory!”
“We wanted to let you know, there’s a massive neutron bomb that’s been deployed by the Eclipse mercs and we don’t know if they’ll set if off or not.” Burke stated, beckoning the other two. “The fleet is afraid to touch down until we get a deal sorted out.”
“Makes sense.” Idenkin nodded to the turian with the assault rifle and they all filed down toward the staircase. “Come on down, we’ll show you around.”
“Listen, sergeant, can you confirm who the attackers were on this colony? Any evidence? Did your battalion manage to dispatch one of the attackers?” Burke stacked the queries like a pile of papers.
“Sorry, I really don’t know. All we saw were the big blue suits of armor that came down and tore ass around the city. They might be Blue Suns, but I doubt they would attack a colony in Citadel space.” Idenkin answered after a brief pause, not making eye contact. “Look, we really need that mercenary conveyor captured and taken out. Eclipse sent a scouting party and we took out two of them, and they could be coming around for another attack on this factory.” They passed by a turian sitting on an empty crate, who lazily stood up and made an unenthused salute.
“My associates and I can certainly alleviate that problem on our own.” Burke replied, looking around the messy interior of the factory. The interior of the structure smelled of burnt plastic and heavy rust, and there was a minimal amount of damage done to it.
As a whole the factory was separated into three floors, each floor being exactly the same as the other in terms of industrial operation. Each interior factory room was wholly wrapped around by a stretch of hallway and staircases. It was a factory for producing and melding plastic or similar substances used for building cheap products, and one could realize why the attackers did not want to use up precious ammunition on the structure.
When they were on the second floor, one of the turians, this one carrying a shotgun, opened a door to the floor’s operation area. The equipment was inoperable, and the chamber itself was filled with cots, where turian civilians lay resting upon them, most fast asleep, but some mumbling to themselves in partial slumber. A single guard watched over them, an assault rifle in his hands.
“These are the civilians we managed to save. All of them are extremely tired, some even lightly injured, though the medic is helping them out.” Idenkin woefully explained, immediately closing the door when the medic looked at them suspiciously.
“How’s the food supply here? Anything we can do to help?” Brooklyn asked, coming down with Darius and the bound Eclipse prisoner.
Idenkin pat his stomach after the remark. “We’re good on food, maybe a little short on water but it’s nothing we can’t manage.”
“Speaking of water…” Darius mentioned, holding a gangly armored turian finger upward. “We came across an escaped convict who was hauling water and other supplies out of an abandoned hostel.”
“He was armed too, carried a pistol.” Burke interrupted. “Not to mention he was the biggest damned turian I’ve ever seen in my life.”
“That, too. Went by the name of Avil Pardo, or Abol Pardi or something like that…” Darius scratched his painted face in deep pondering.
“Um… gee.” Idenkin rubbed the back of his neck. “That’s… awfully unsettling. But not entirely unexpected.”
“Better keep a lookout for that bastard. I wasn’t going to admit, but I might as well tell you, we tried to subdue him but-“ Darius shook his head and chuckled.
Burke smiled. “Yeah but he kind of muscled his way out of our grip."
"By muscled you mean totally snuck his oversized meathook of a hand onto your belt and stole your pistol.” Darius fired back with a vocally hazed laugh, Burke responding.
The Idenkin's jaw retracted a bit, his head held high; a turian smile. “Hahaha. Man, I shouldn't laugh at this, it's kind of serious, but, not as serious as those troopers out there.”
“Aye. We'll get to work on them right away, but we need to interrogate our pal here, first. What did you say your name was?” Burke nudged the cuffed Eclipse capturee, who twitched his bloody nose at the response. Idenkin nodded, pat Darius on the shoulder as he walked by and dissapeared behind a corner.
The trooper's eyes darted about, hanging low and focusing on the ground and the feet. “Lieutenant Chet Anders, 22nd Starborne Brigade, under Commander T'Wani. I'm her executive officer. My identification chit is on my left hip in the pocket.”
“You sure that's not your self destruct button or a nerve gas release chamber?” Brooklyn questioned in a snarky tongue in cheek manner. “You Eclipse nancies are a tricky bunch.”
“Cut the shit, Brook.” Darius cut in. “Also, thanks for volunteering. Stand back Burke... for obvious reasons.”
Darius and Burke backed up and snickered, Brooklyn looking flustered and Anders looking somewhat confused by such jocular attitudes from these privateers. Reluctantly, Brooklyn fished the credentials out of the pocket, Craddock and Seltzer looking over them and nodding. “Yeah, it all checks out. We've got ourselves an Eclipse officer with us today.”
“Yes you do... now what is it you want from me?” Lt. Anders spat a pinkened projectile of saliva onto the ground.
“What exactly are you goons doing here anyway?” Brooklyn turned at sat on a nearby flat top radiator, withdrawing an Atlantis Light cigarette from a pack on her arm and placing it into her mouth, flipping her omni tool on and igniting the tip.
“You sightseeing? Or hey! Perhaps dipping into journalism?” Darius taunted.
“Lieutenant Chet Anders, 2019-4557-J37Y.” The Eclipse mercenary dodged the question effectively.
“Wrong answer, Chet.” Darius nabbed the man's emergency rations from a cylinder pack on the lower part of his armored back, handing the cheese and crackers toward Brooklyn, and a can of fish to Burke.
Craddock peeled back the can's lid discarding it and dipping a gloved finger in it, returning it to his mouth. “What's Eclipse doing here Mr. Anders? Our time here's kind of limited, due to there being a rather powerful bomb in the hands of your fellow Klipsies, so if you can be a dapper gent and help out, that would be more than just great.”
“Lieutenant Chet Anders, Two-Oh-One- ahhh... fuck me.” The trooper took a deep breath and snorted. “T'Wani knows more than I do about this mission. I just the drive vehicles and relay orders to the Brigade.”
“Good boy.” Brooklyn removed the cigarette from her mouth and blew a screen of smoke out the corner of her mouth, which the wind blew in Darius' direction. “What DO you know about the mission?”
“Command thinks whoever attacked this was using stolen Eclipse weapons. That's really all I was briefed on.”
“Well, Chet.” Burke pat his Eclipse acquaintance upon the shoulder. “Maybe we can cut you a deal...”
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The Eclipse conveyor transport ship was parked practically in between the shopping and suburban centers of the city, in the middle of a public sporting field. Buildings on the perimeter were quite shot up, and if one took a few hundred paces into the suburban field, they would come across a plethora of half incinerated turian corpses strewn about.
At the port flank of the landed ship, there was a mass of rubble, derived a small real estate office building, which had of course suffered a terrible destructive blow. Two eclipse troopers, salarians stood atop it, picking various junk out of it and placing it in a pile. Credit chits were found, but they were either badly damaged, or held little monetary value within them. Barricades were set up near the portside entrance,
Within the command bridge of the ISV Niljhen, Ulsa T'Wani hunched over the operations console. The metal screens had been drawn over the viewports to prevent a sniper attack. The asari commander flicked the holographic interface, the room being illuminated with the glow of a star map which outlined the planet and two red triangles which floated just to the side.
She took yet another sip of a sparkling water out of a cup and set it down on the workcenter. “Mr. Kobin, what are the chances of successfully running that turian blockade?” She asked without making eye contact.
The human Eclipse helmsman sank his head low and shook it. “Well, that would require an immediate emergency FTL jump as soon as we clear the atmosphere. I would have to get the angle right, and then even if we did escape, we'd risk reaching a point where we'd lose our fuel, or running into nearly anything unsavory, like another Council race patrol.”
An asari sergeant stood on the opposite side of the operations console. “Commander, I regret to say this, but I think our only options here are to stay here and starve, deactivate the bomb and surrender ourselves, or... commit suicide.”
“Makes me wish we actually had all the components for the damned thing.” T'Wani turned and faced the hallway which led through the neck of the ship and forked toward the armory and officer's quarters.
“I should apologize to every uniformed Eclipse mercenary under my command. Officers, grunts, technicians, and especially those who died in that street downtown.” T'Wani sighed. “I've sent us all into a deathtrap, a mission that was impossible to accomplish, and for that, everyone has suffered on my accou-”
”Commander, we have four contacts closing in on foot from the factory district. One of them looks like one of ours, over.” the forward watch officer spoke through the open channel.
“Everyone hold their fire until I say otherwise! Keep on the lookout for other tangos.” She slammed her palm down on the table, everyone in the room doubling to the hall.
The nine remaining able men and women under T'Wani's command (two were in the infirmary due to the previous fight) doubled out the door and entrenched themselves in the available cover. The commander herself stood in full view, flanked by an engineer with a rifle. Her tech armor was activated, yellow transparent segmented force fields over her armor and head, and she carried a cherry red Raptor assault rifle at her side.
Lieutenant Anders raised his head, somewhat relieved that he could get to see his comrades again, even though Burke's pistol was pointed at the back of his neck as he marched him forth, Darius and Brooklyn merely a few steps behind.
“Sorry about the gun to the head, Chet.” Brooklyn spoke. “We just wanted to make it look like we mean business.”
“Yeah if it's any help, I have this on safety.” Burke chuckled.
Anders was silent for a moment. “Can I ask you guys a question?”
“Go ahead Chet.” Burke replied as he subconciously counted each of the entrenched Eclipse mercs.
“You guys are legitimized pirates and you haven't beaten me or tortured me for the information once you nabbed me. Why are you being so nice to me?”
“Well, we did take your emergency rations away and eat them in front of you.” Darius added, checking the sights on his hybrid rifle. “That's kind of a dick thing to do.”
“Yeah but that's a drop in the bucket compared to what Eclipse does to its prisoners the first five minutes after they're captured.” Anders replied sheepishly.
“Lieutenant Anders...” Brooklyn began, a hand on her holstered sidearm. “We may be privateers without any rules, but we still know what the right thing to do is.”
Anders smiled warmly, but ducked his head so no one could see. “God, you guys are straight out of an adventure novel kids would read in middle school.”
“Wish we could say that were true on some variables.” Burke smiled and waved toward the asari commander who frowned back.
They stopped a few paces away from the line, Burke stepping out from behind the captured junior officer. “Parley, ma'am?” Brooklyn spoke up.
The commander glared for a couple of seconds before speaking. “Are you three the lot that killed half of my men?”
Brooklyn relaxed her friendly smile and nodded. “Yes commander, I'm afraid we were.”
“And now you want to negotiate...”
“You ever consider that it might be preferable to another bloodbath?” Darius yelled.
“Darius!” Brooklyn nudged her associate, who immediately shrugged. “Let me do the talking.”
“Mr. Anders here is a decent fellow!” Burke completely ignored Brook's rule, even though she had just now repeated it. “The galaxy would be a lesser place if hostile action were to be taken here. And I'm not going to be the man who kills him.” Chet rolled his eyes at the comment.
“And you showed him how much you liked him by battering him.” Was the asari's snide observation.
“Ulsa, most of this blood is Lee's after their ship took a shot at us.” Anders corrected. “I got this bloody nose when they hit the Cutlass the first time.” He was referring to the time Burke threw a grenade under his vehicle. Initially, the lieutenant came across as a meek and timid man, but it seems that he knew the commander very well and was used to dealing with her.
“So what are you?” T'Wani paced around the line, not making eye contact. “Mercenaries? Looters? Or, is that turian with you a Spectre?”
“No commander.” Brooklyn smiled once again. “We're privateers commissioned by the Council. We would like to turn in the lieutenant here as long as you lay down your weapons and deactivate your neutron bomb.”
T'Wani laughed. “I should probably just detonate it right now, take all of us with it.”
“Even though it's missing most of the components?” Brooklyn shot back.
“Nice. Did Chet tell you that?”
“Yeah. He said that the bomb is missing the detonator, the injector line, one of the charge primers, and both the retaining bands.” Darius repeated, the Asari immediately frowning.
“No use lying to us now. We saw that look of yours.” Brooklyn grinned, and placed her hands upon her hips.
The commander now had both hands on her rifle. “You ambush us like an asari maiden in a back alley, kill half my men, and now you make demands. Such typical pirate behavior.”
“You'll lose the other half if you don't turn yourselves in.” Burke spoke aloud, once again failing to toe the line with the plan. “And it's not going to be us this time. It's likely going to be from the turians blockading this planet, or starvation. Your choice.”
“After all, since you likely came from the terminus systems, you'll likely be deported after spending a few mere months in incarceration awaiting trial... that is if you didn't kill any of the populace.”
“I lost two scouts when they came across that factory we were heading to.” T'Wani hung her head low and faced the other direction. “They were killed by the turians there, and as far as we know, we didn't take out any of them.”
They suddenly remembered Sergeant Idenkin and his ramshackle band of colonial marines. “You have a much better chance if you follow through with this. Trust us. We can radio the Heirarchy Armada and tell them that you'll come quietly, and you and those under your command will recieve full quarter and proper treatment.”
Half a minute of silence passed, and most of the Eclipse troopers were now looking at their commanding officer, those without closed helmets showing unsure and weary expressions. “Stand down, all of you.” Ulsa T'Wani stepped out of the entrenched line and walked toward the mercs and her second in command. She clicked the compaction switch on her rifle, and it retracted and shrank in size as it folded automatically. Afterwards she laid it on the ground and did the same with her pistol.
The reluctance in her eyes and stifling vocal tone presented how completely shamed she felt. “The 22nd Starborne Brigade of the Eclipse Mercenary company... would... like to offer our unconditional... surrender.”
After a few minutes, all the other Eclipse mercenaries laid their weapons, thermal clips, and other combat equipment in a pile where T'Wani laid her weapons, and all walked and sat in a cluster near the sporting field's snack bar, weaponless. Brooklyn scavanged an M100 Grenade Launcher, modified with a retractable stock. After the pile was cleared, she took aim and fired two rounds into the pile to destroy or damage the weapons, the pile bursting from the two explosive shells detonating on impact, the weapons scattering in pieces, or as a damaged whole.
Burke stopped Commander T'Wani before she joined her battered underlings. “Anders said that you all were here to recover some tech that you believed was stolen from you. Why head to the factory?”
“Our scouts confirmed that one of those armored suits was in the possession of those turians, possibly after they shot it up.” The commander replied, placing her hands behind her back and standing in a military posture.
“The sergeant leading the surviving marines said otherwise.”
“Well, then he was lying to you. Private T'Marik sent me video feed to prove it.” She punched up digits in her omni tool, Burke placing a firm grip on his pistol if she were to try and incinerate him or bring up a combat drone.
A flat holographic screen was summoned above her omni tool, the footage colorless, but quite clear, and even with sound. The helmet attached camera focused on the back of a salarian scout, as well as the factory that they just visited and landed the Panera on. The salarian, most likely the squad leader signaled the asari camerawoman, who sank lower to the ground and moved ahead toward the side. In full view were a few turians hauling a battered exosuit, matching the exact look of the one seen in the colony security footage. One of them turned their head, and the rest did as well. Gunfire was seen and heard, and T'Marik exchanged the fire and took cover behind a battered guard shack. She turned her head, the salarian ordering the fallback as he sped away, a human scout firing as she backed up. The salarian was cut down with a shot to the head, but the human managed to flee. The private sat in her cover for a while before she slowely peeked out and aimed her assault rifle toward a turian marine who was seen just then crouching from view. A few other gunshots were heard, and the private immediately turned her head and saw Sergeant Idenkin in a closer view, as he had flanked her and held down the trigger. T'Marik screamed loudly as the shots penetrated her armor, and a final one hitting her helmet and destroying the attached video feed, ending it.
T'Wani turned the omni tool off and placed her hands on her hips. Burke stared, dumbfounded, Brooklyn at his side as her jaw gaped open. “The son of a bitch lied to us.” They both hissed in unison.
Darius walked toward his associates. “Just sent word to the fleet. They'll touch down momentarily.”
“Good work Dare. Get your things together and leave the mercs here.” Burke responded, not making eye contact. “We have to pay our pals in the 798th another visit.”
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Post by Cali on Apr 2, 2011 0:38:02 GMT 1
Chapter 10 – Idenkin's Silver Hammer _____________________________________________________ Recommended Music:
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By the time it was over, the howling wind had began to cease and was replaced with soft breezes. Nothing was heard but the non-rhythmic clunking of Burke's trail boots, the middleweight clacking of Brooklyn's GI boots, and the pitter-patter of Darius' turian feet. The streets leading up to the plastics factory were exactly the same as they left it, the occasional turian corpse, burnt out cars and sky vehicles, and some flooding from the destruction of the water plant.
The factory was coming into view as they walked to it. “So what incentive does the good sergeant have by withholding evidence?” Burke spoke aloud, brushing his black wool trench coat with his gloved hands.
“There was a sergeant there?” Darius asked, though not loud enough for the other two to hear them.
“I guess the Hierarchy really wants that technology for themselves.” Brooklyn stated her opinion, carrying the compacted Eclipse grenade launcher she confiscated over her shoulder.
“But wait, who was the sergeant you were talking about again? I guess I didn't meet him.” Darius spoke up again.
Burke looked at the factory lot's guard shack, suddenly remembering the video footage of the Eclipse scouts, and a single hair poking upward as he saw what he believed to be a spot of asari blood where the pointwoman was slain. “Sergeant Idenkin, you met him remember? The turian who gave us the brief tour?”
Darius froze, perplexed. “I thought that guy was a junior lieutenant.”
“The fuck are you talking about Darius?” Burke asked.
“He had a single silver oval on his collar. Bam. Junior lieutenant. Don't you know jack about the turian marine chain of command?” Darius barked, waxing irritated.
“He told me he was a sergeant.” Burke repeated.
Darius' mandibles clicked. “Well either he lost his own armor, or what he said is another big fat one we can add to his list of li-”
There was a snap of a rifle, a wispy trail of distorted air flew from the top of the factory, landing in Darius' neck armor where he reeled backward and landed on his side.
“DARIUS!” Brooklyn screamed as she doubled back and took cover behind the guard shack, and unfolded her expropriated grenade launcher. Soon afterward, the windows on the face side of the factory became a shower-head of sorts for pistol and assault rifle fire, the ground around the privateers getting shot and kicked up. Burke dived toward an abandoned turian slip bike and hid his form behind it, sparks and tiny bits of metal popping off of it.
For a few seconds the unflappable suppression fire continued, Darius crawling behind a parking post and using that and a foot of elevated sidewalk as measly cover.
“CUT IT OUT!” A somewhat familiar voice on a loudspeaker cried, and the barrage halted. “How are you guys doing, it's been a while... like... an hour? Maybe more? Maybe less... don't really have a concept of time. You know, it's good you didn't come by here when I was around, because you'd realize that there wasn't a military uniform I could steal that fit me, me being a big fella and all.”
“It's that convict! Avin Pardo.” Darius growled, patting the rupture on his armor.
“Darius, are you hit bad?” Burke whispered.
“Negative. Didn't go all the way through.”
“Your flesh, or your armor?” Brooklyn asked, briefly popping her head out of cover to get a glimpse of the area.
“My ass.” Darius' snarky non-sequester reply suggested the latter.
“WE KNEW it was probably too much to ask for you all to clear out that merc ship and let us take it.” Avin continued over the loudspeaker. “We certainly weren't going to take your piece of shit fighter corvette, doesn't matter how much firepower it's got on it, I've seen prettier things that came from a varren's anus.”
“Thanks for the vivid imagery!” Burke yelled as loud as he could without screaming.
“You could give Idenkin some 'imagery' by popping out of your cover, so he can get a pop at yah. He's up in the union boss' loft on the roof. He was a former military policeman after all, so he knows his marksmanship.” Pardo's chuckling sounded quite menacing over the speaker. “He killed an elcor smuggler and took his goods. Got caught and sentenced to eighteen years without parole. He and I are the only killers in this bunch... well there's Thajix, he killed one of those mercenaries that came by here. The rest have basically been doing time for assault and robbery and the such.”
“Cool story bro!” Darius yelled, cocking his rifle as he lay in his cover.
“Isn't it? My fellow turian?” Avin Pardo laughed heartily. “You know we're being good people. Merely slipping crushed sleeping medicine into their food. We could have just killed them, but we wouldn't be good turians if we did, would we?”
“I have to admit, I'm a little impressed with how you and your boys handled the little masquerade of yours!” Brooklyn shouted, loading an alternate ammo drum into the grenade launcher, this one full of incendiary shells. “But you made a big mistake, that being insulting my ship!”
“Ha, ha. Yeah?”
“Yeah!” With that, Brooklyn popped out of cover, firing an incendiary grenade through the exposed window of the second floor, where the majority of the shooting came from.
From the loudspeaker, the convict leader gave a horribly loud scream before the speaker itself radiated a sharp clank, as well as a piercing whine, before fizzing out. A burning figure, one of the turian riflemen leaped out, screaming before he fell toward the ground and snapped his spinal cord.
The entire section of the floor was orange with fire, and smoke was billowing out of it like a lit cigarette. Burke leaped up and sprinted toward the factory, Brooklyn yelling for him to return, which he ignored without a word. Idenkin fired a final shot which flew just beside the running human, and closed in out of his line of fire toward the edge of the building.
Idenkin cursed while sitting on the union boss' oak desk, waiting for his Hammer model II sniper rifle, which he liberated from a gun shop, to cool. He looked down the sights once more and contemplated on taking a shot at Darius, even though the only shot he had was at his feet, as well as the thicker spots of his armor. He then shifted his sights to the right, waiting to see if Brooklyn had exposed her head. Eventually she did, and arched the weapon over to aim at him. He squeezed the trigger, the tiny mass accelerated round smacking into the weapon and knocking it out of the other viewport of the guard shack, right on the ground where he killed the asari scout.
“Damn it!” Brook shouted, clutching her wrist from the grazing shot and peeking out to the exit side. Another shot was fired, narrowly missing her head, and blowing off a strand of hair from her head. She ducked back in cover, knowing that she could do nothing but sit on her hands for the time being.
Idenkin shifted his sights over toward Darius' position, seeing that he had his rifle fixated on him and was now firing up at him. The turian convict shouted a horrid curse in his own language, ducking down under the table as a few rounds smacked into the side of the office. He adjusted his scope, and waited for the suppressing fire to cease.
Burke had nearly reached the door to one of the staircases, when a turian had taken position in the staircase window and opened fire on him with a shurikan machine pistol. Two rounds smacked into his shields, taking them down a little over halfway before he cleared the line of fire. The idiotic escaped convict who fired upon him seemed to be shifting it toward the men over to Darius and Brooklyn.
Burke took several deep breaths as he produced his shotgun from the back of his belt, carefully pushing the door open. The staircase was evident to him as he held his shotgun in front of him, scanning the area and sweeping its aim toward the turian prisoner, who continued firing his sub machinegun in long variables, ejecting a thermal clip occasionally.
Burke took aim, then suddenly there was a minor field distortion and a slight hissing sound, signifying that his kenetic barriers had recharged. The turian obviously heard it, and Burke uttered a curse within his own mind. The turian turned firing from the window a few steps up, before Burke fired a single shot and ducked under the railing as he continued to move. Afterwards, he popped up and fired once again, the blowing a hole through his light combat armor and ravaging his internal organs. The turian coughed, slumping back and leaning over the windowsill as he neared full deceased status. Burke continued his ascent toward the staircase, cocking the shotgun and releasing another white hot thermal clip which bounced down the staircase he ran up on.
More exchanging fire was heard, Burke kicking the second door and checking for hostiles toward every corner. He then closed the door and took a deep breath, continuing to ascend the staircase. It was incredibly risky, but he hoped he could dispatch the remaining escaped convicts before Idenkin killed either of his two comrades. This made the situation all the more frantic, and increased the heart rate and adrenaline of the privateer.
Burke peeked through the door to the second floor, seeing a turian figure fleeing as he fired through the window with an assault rifle, and eventually turn and sprint. The human quickly tip toed to the corner, seeing the fiery and smoky area merely a few steps ahead.
He spotted a single turian corpse which had been burned beyond recognition from the blast, the smell being extremely unpleasant, bordering unbearable. He then saw a turian in a striped suit crawling away from the heat and flames, covered in smoke, and suffering burns across his body.
“Shit... you know this really freaking hurts, right?” Avin Pardo coughed, pounding the floor afterward as he lay upon it.
Burke pointed his pistol toward him. “Don't you move a goddamn muscle. You stay right here until I get back.”
“You know... this may suprise you... cough... but this isn't the worst pain I've been through. I'll live.” The tall and intimidating convict leader laughed.
There was a long burst of assault rifle fire from behind Burke, which stripped his shields, a single round penetrating his shoulderblade and passing all the way through. The privateer dropped his shotgun, yelling in pain as the nearby nerve cluster was grazed. He turned and pressed himself against a wall, pulling his striker pistol out and firing several rounds. The disguised convict that shot him was too busy preparing for his next shots to take cover, and he was riddled with pistol rounds, two penetrating both his lungs. He hacked up violet blood, staggering back before hitting the wall and sliding down, dead.
Burke wheezed in pain, pointing the pistol at Pardo, who was crawling toward his shotgun, just ready to pick it up. The human fired a single round into the turian's back, and he made a single convulse and rolled onto his back, groaning.
Craddock stood up, sprinting and dueling with the pain that paraded through his left shoulder. He wounded around the corner toward the room where the civilians were spooning. He kicked the door open, seeing exactly what he did not want to see.
The convict in the medic's uniform from earlier had a heavy pistol to the head of a somewhat conscious civilian. “Get away! We can work this out! Let's make a deal!” He cried frantically. “We don't have to shoot up the place anymore ya hear?!”
Burke merely aimed the pistol toward him as his arm bent all the way back so his hand could clutch his exit wound. He did not have any words to tell him, and instead fixated his sights on the turian prisoner's head.
The prisoner responded by turning his pistol on him and releasing a few shots. They fruitlessly dug into his shields, Burke falling back around the doorway.
One of the turian civilians laying on the cot grumbled, mustering all his strength to stand up, even with the sleeping medication still in his body. He grabbed a scalpel from a desk and stepped behind the panicking turian convict, who was still shouting insults to the human. With all the remaining strength he could conjure, he grasped his head and stabbed the neck of the criminal until the pistol was dropped, and he fell to the ground.
Burke peeked around, seeing the two turians were tiredly and lazily kicking the medic pretender as he was sprawled on the ground. He breathed in, then ran back to the staircase to proceed towards the roof.
Idenkin looked through the sights once again. “Come on you hacks.” He saw that Darius had switched his cover to where Burke had originally been. As far as he know, Brooklyn was still crouched in the guard shack. “Show yourselves you cowards-”
He heard heavy breathing outside of the open door of the office. Idenkin's mandibles twitched in a nervous pattern, and he lifted his sniper rifle and turned it toward the entrance, where he saw Burke taking aim. The human doubled out of the way, the sniper shot hitting the green open door instead.
The turian convict rounded to the side of the table, heaving it and letting it fall to it's side, quickly taking cover behind its top and aiming the sniper rifle toward the entrance.
From behind him, a disc grenade was thrown through the window, embedding itself into the bottom of the metal desk and beeping.
Idenkin dropped his rifle and leaped over the table, running toward the door. “Shit, shit, shit, shi-”
He was just out when the charge detonated, sending half the office in a cataclysmic burst of conventional explosives. He leaped, the concussion of the explosion carrying him toward Burke, where he was tackled, the pistol knocked out of his hands.
Burke regained consciousness a mere two seconds later. The two were tobogganing along the sloped segment of the roof, Burke's striker pistol sliding just out of their reach. Both of them propelled themselves with their feet and hands in an attempt to reach the glissading sidearm.
Burke grit his teeth in anxiety and pain. It was some consolidation that he was sliding faster than Idenkin. The turian had reached out one hand to try to grasp his hair on more than one instance.
They were nearing the edge, Burke began growling in fear and pain as his fingers grasped the heavy pistol, bringing it to the side. His index finger squeezed the trigger, blasting a clean hole through the core of Idenkin's cranium.
The freshly dead turian convict slid off the edge, his limp body twirling in mid air like the visage of a ballerina, just before plummeting into the ground. Burke grasped the edge of a lightning rod and holding on for dear life. He gasped as he lay on his back, the bare minimum of breath in his lungs as he fought for air. His back partially positioned itself on the roof gutter, adding as additional support to keep him from falling. He looked up to the sky, seeing the turian frigates searing overhead after entering the atmosphere, as well as hearing his comrades dash out of cover and yell his name. He then entered a state of semi unconsciousness, in an attempt to preserve or regain the least bit of strength.
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Post by Cali on Apr 6, 2011 0:37:17 GMT 1
Chapter 11 – A Whiter Shade of Pale _____________________________________________________ Recommended Music:
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“Ready, sir?” The turian medic spoke, a turian rifleman assisting and getting near the legs of the big man. “Up you go.” They both grasped Burke and placed his muscular form upon the stretcher, shortly after Burke's trench coat was removed, and both the entry and exit wound plugged with medigel and disinfectant cream. The medical supplies were from Brooklyn's kit, as turian medical supplies generally had no effect on humans, or at worst, were just as deadly as the wound they received.
“Is this really necessary?” Burke croaked, lifting his head up and looking at the surroundings as they laid his trench coat over him for warmth.
“It's all procedure, human.” The turian medic replied, his hands on the spokes of the stretcher as he and the other marine carried him to the parked utility vehicle. “We have to carry you to safety, and treat this area as if it's still a combat zone. That's the way the turian marines do it up.”
“A quart of a credit for every time they've literally done things up.” Darius responded as he and Brooklyn sat in the back of the turian utility vehicle. Burke was slid into the floorspace area by the two turians, who patted him on the ankle after they were sure his condition was stable.
Burke lifted his head up once again, seeing Avil Pardo being taken away on a stretcher and on life support, having survived being shot by Craddock and being burnt alive by Brooklyn. He was still quite aware of his surroundings, and lifted a hand up and directed a rather offensive gesture into his direction as he passed by.
“Oh, and... sergeant-major Macerdin, sir?” The marine rifleman who helped carry Burke asked as the vehicle's engines were starting.
“Just call me Macerdin.” Darius responded.
“General Chandis told me to tell you this: He is going to be on a two week leave in the Citadel, and he'd like to meet with you and talk to you.” The marine saluted and walked off.
Darius' right mandible extended, then began trembling. “Khandis is a general now?”
“Funny how time flies.” Burke grinned toward his turian comrade, smiling and patting his massive foot.
Darius kicked his hand out of the way. “Seems like only just a few hours ago I was doing missions with a Lieutenant Chandis back in S.P.E.A.R.”
“Instead you were spooning with us inside a salarian fighter.” Brooklyn replied, taking a sip of water from a canteen.
“Time sure has flown by...” Darius nodded, watching the scenery go by in the vehicle.
The utility vehicle parked near one of the frigates. The Eclipse troopers were bound and formatted in a single file, ready to board the turian vessel. Two turians with shotguns flanked Commander T'Wani as she approached the back of the vehicle, Burke standing up and putting his trench coat on, his good arm through its sleeve, and his injured side merely covered by the jacket's shoulder. He stepped off and surveyed the scene.
“I'm sorry sir, but the commander really wishes to speak with you once again.” One of the armed turians sighed. They were wearing crewmen uniforms rather than marine combat armor, suggesting that they were simple servicemen called to shepherd the mass amounts of prisoners due to the lack of trained marines.
Burke held out his left hand from between the lapels in his trench coat. “It's fine, I wanted to talk to her again as well.”
“Four minutes.” The same turian reminded, and turned a deaf ear and faced another direction.
T'Wani nodded. “I looked you up, Mr. Burke Craddock. You didn't show up on Alliance service records or the Council's.”
“You seem to be forgetting that we don't actually exist.” Burke chuckled. “But you managed to dig out my full name. You must have found something.”
T'Wani frowned. “Yeah. I did. Found out at the last second.” She turned her body toward the sunset. “It was rather disheartening to find out you were a fucking Blue Bonnie, of all things, Staff Sergeant Craddock.”
Craddock sighed and looked toward his boots, scratching his brow. He did not exactly enjoy the prospect of being reminded of his employment in the ranks of those savages. “I haven't been in the Blue Suns since '74, commander. Even had my tattoos removed.”
“Well how nice of them to keep you in the records.” T'Wani turned her head toward him.
“So, you came all the way here into Citadel space with one forth of a standard starborne brigade to look for equipment they stole from you?”
“I'm almost certain some other folks I know of came here for the same purpose.”
“To find your weapons?”
“Yeah.” The asari commander closed in further toward him, almost toe to toe. “Listen Sergeant Craddock, Eclipse had a real good and very well respected Director of Supply and Engineering, by the name of Jordan Campbell. He was even great at negotiating, something we don't usually do. Then somebody iced him in a batarian VIP shelter on some shitty, swampy planet called Golmes. Funny thing is, he was there to try to find out what happened to the equipment WE paid for, and was instead sold to somebody else.”
Burke crossed the fingers on his left hand as they were concealed under his jacket. “That's a real drag. You think the batarians may have done it?”
“More like a human and a turian from what that particular batarian terrorist cell told us. They also escaped in a large fighter sized vessel. Sound familiar?” She shot him a look that wound have rusted metal.
“Ah, I see where this is going.”
“Burke...” T'Wani began pacing along a straight path. “I've known just about nothing but chaos and hell my whole life. Was constantly scorned in academies for being a pureblood, coupling parent left and I haven't seen her again, birth parent was murdered when I was still a maiden. Eclipse life ain't no picnic. Killed a few people, tortured and shook down a few more. Saw people overdose on red sand, kill eachother over single credits or just looking at another one funny, and then I meet three privateers who ran with the Blue Suns, and of all things, and of all things he treats us with respect and doesn't murder us. A freaking pirate of all people.” She stopped and turned toward him. “You may have killed a sizable portion of my force, but even the men were surprised and quite grateful for working out a peaceful deal.”
Burke shook his head and laughed. “Commander, are you telling me Eclipse mercenaries really don't know a thing about honor?”
“They really don't. I thought you formerly being part of one of the most dangerous mercenary gangs in the terminus systems would soften you up to that fact.”
“Yeah, that's true.” Burke responded. “Why are you telling me this?”
“I'm quite fair for a senior officer in Eclipse. I'll give you a two day head start before I tip the Directors off to who actually did this.”
“Let's make it three. You still got your omni tool on you?” He brought up his own bluewire tool and began fumbling with it. She nodded and brought up her own. Burke began uploading files, mostly photos and scans he took.
“All this is information and proof that the Blue Suns stole your suits.” Burke whispered, to avoid the turians hearing. “You were right. Those convicts in marine uniforms were hiding a suit the actual military here shot down. Even dragged the dead batarian out of it and hid him in a closet.”
T'Wani nodded. “Thanks for everything, Craddock. You realize this still doesn't change anything regarding Campbell. You just bought yourself some time.”
Burke was already walking back to the vehicle. “Well when you find proof that I actually committed such a heinous crime against one so gentlemanly and noble as an Eclipse director, let me know and I'll roll over and die for you.”
“Would you leave my hit squads so unsatisfied?” T'Wani managed to smile as the two turians signaled her to fall in line with her underlings. “I'll see you later, Burke Craddock!” Her loosely bound hands lifted up and managed a wave, and she followed the guards toward the frigate.
Another vehicle was rolling toward the second turian frigate's hangar bay, Commander Waldorn, an ensign with a datapad, and two armed marines, standing side by side as the vehicle rolled near them.
The commander and his retinue circled around toward the back, stepping inside and inspecting a mass of metal under a large sheet of stiff polyester. He lifted the flap, and his mandibles immediately fluttered like the wings of a falcon. He was seeing a burnt out and battered chassis of heavy combat armor, painted a bluish green, like cyan or turquoise. The ensign beside him nodded and documented it on his datapad.
They both stepped off. “Ensign, are you religious?”
“Uh, more spiritual, like most turians.” The ensign replied, compacting the datapad into his breast pocket. “Why?”
“You ever feel like being theistic at all?” The commander patted on the hood of the vehicle and stepped back, and it rolled into the ramp and toward the bay.
“I... uh. I often contemplate on the existence of some sort of God at times...” The ensign was getting rather confused.
“Well, I suggest you start praying to some sort of God, because we'll probably need all the help we can get. Even if it's from a superstition.” He followed the marines and the Ensign up the ramp, the latter which was both baffled and concerned. “We'll need a guard detail in the cargo hold just to be safe. Get the XO to forward the details to Citadel Intelligence. They have some cargo to pick up.”
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Post by Cali on Apr 7, 2011 4:34:59 GMT 1
Chapter 12 – Cuno _____________________________________________________ Recommended Music:
_____________________________________________________ January, 2160 17 Years Earlier
The wheat acreage was trembling when the tractor hummed and spurred to life, the wheels turning and the engine hoeing the vehicle forth as it head toward the desired location. It was a fairly old piece of property, recently modified to respond to remote omni tool commands remotely and automatically.
Seventeen year old Burke Craddock, in his laced trainer shoes, farming slacks, t-shirt and orange jacket, shut his interface tool off and fixated his eyes on the construction about half a mile away. Various vehicles were bulldozing and digging trenches into the soil as use for irrigation channels. He then turned to the left of him where the noon sun was positioned, seeing that the irrigation to that end of the farmland had been completed. Incisions dug neatly into the grassy soil, providing assistance for the growth of fine rice, wheat, grain, beans, in addition to the local exotic crops.
The planet of Cuno was a garden/agricultural world world located in the Ferehnbach system of the Crescent Nebula, settled by a group of human separatists who were bitter and weary of the Alliance. It was one of the very first independent human colonies, and a large supplier of food for the region, including Illium (mostly for its native wild game) as well as nearby space stations. More recently, batarian food and trade conglomerates had arrived to establish business partnerships with the local farmers and hunters. This proved to be extremely lucrative, as they assisted in growth and finance. As with most garden worlds located in the nebula, it was rather well known for an awe striking landscape of grass, pine trees, and lovely azure middays and amber dusks. Though Burke, in his spiteful adolescence, would not hesitate to admit that he believed this was not the life for him. He complied with his father's requests and chores nearly unquestionably, at least after years of parental conditioning.
Still there was an incredible sereneness and solace on this planet that he was certain that no other world could improve on, let alone emulate. He looked back at the tractor, seeing the wheat being harvested under the combine. This years harvest proved to be the same as nearly every other; tedious and challenging to sow, and easy and quite rewarding to reap.
He thought he had heard a child call to him, synching with a heavy clank coming from the equipment on the irrigating site. He looked behind him and saw a slender asari child no more than around seven or eight, waving and running toward him. Burke immediately grinned, running away from the field and onto the trail.
“Mom and I are back!” She announced, giggling.
“Right on time, too Libra!” Burke smiled gingerly and shared a hug with the child. “How was your trip to the monastery?”
“Well!” They walked alongside one another on the dirt path in between fields, leading toward the homestead. “It started out really boring, but it became really great. I even got a new biotic amp! One of the Prodigy lines from the Armali Council.”
“I hear those are really good.” Burke looked up at a trading conveyor that flew into the atmosphere, most likely heading for the merchant guild's starport.
“Yeah. Still not as good as the Savant brands though, but it's still great.” Libra responded, looking toward two buckets near the road. “Watch this! Don't tell mom I did this though. I'm not really supposed to.”
She threw her right arm up and her left behind her, being swallowed in a purplish field of energy. Her farming attires wrinkles as well as her necklace beads began fluttering in slow scales like the keys of a piano. The two buckets began to ascend off the ground, suspended by the biotic power as they slowly span around one another, like a couple of spouses waltzing in a circle. The smaller bucket began to float higher than the other, dropping into the larger.
Libra released it, the joined buckets plopping into the ground. “Woah!” Burke clapped his hands. “That was... pretty awesome! I'll be sure to think twice before getting into an argument with you.”
“Haha! You'd better not!” They continued walking, Libra and the human teenager cackling. “Kidding. I wouldn't use biotics against you. They can be pretty dangerous after all.”
“Yeah especially those... what are they called. Singularities? Aren't they like... miniature black holes or something?”
“Sorta. More like huge magnetic balls of energy. Only without the limit to metal and stuff.” Libra stared back at Burke. “Why didn't you come to the monastery with me? You'd make a great biotic.”
“I-” Burke frowned and gulped a bit. “I didn't want to be one.”
“But your mom-”
“I had an L/na implant installed. I'll tell you about it some other time.” Burke put a lid on the topic, Libra's train of thought torn astray by the sudden withdrawal of the subject.
They both walked into the kitchen, the interior lined with the local orange ebony, blue and yellow square tiles along the floor, and a silverly metal surfaces for the refrigerator, counter, sink, stove, broiler, and dishwasher, all designed in a retro futuristic manner. The flat holoscreen above the ice box, the channel tuned toward Quadrant Broadcasting Net (QBN), a human Alliance based networking company.
Jason Craddock sat in the chair at the center table. He was a middle aged man, sporting a blue shirt with suspenders, light brown trousers, and lace-less boots. His face was plastered with a dark brown muttonstache and scraggly hair. A wide stubby glass of ice and a clear, grayish blue liquor laid on the counter, with the farmer's two hands touching it. Burke's father was quite the drinker, but the man could hold his alcohol like Hercules could hold up a truck, and rarely ever appeared anything more than the very least bit intoxicated.
Across from the table, an asari in her matron stage leaned on the stove, dressed in a white leather jacket, leisure trousers, and boots. One side of her face was painted yellow, a symbol representing a third eye that looked almost ancient Egyptian in style. It was not tattooed, but merely removable facepaint.
“Tractor is doing pretty well.” Burke told his father, going to the fridge to fetch a bottle of grape juice, nodding to the asari and smiling. “Hello Mrs. Rucinda.”
Nahla Rucinda smiled warmly to the human. “Hello, Burke! Did your... surgery go well?”
“A lot better than I thought it was going to be, thanks for asking.” He removed the grape juice from the fridge and produced a glass from a cabinet near the side of the fridge.
“That boy didn't have to take any pain medication afterward.” Jason proudly announced, raising his glass toward his son, Burke returning by raising a glass of grape juice, both taking a sip in unison afterward.
The anchorman for QBN was now reporting and covering a recent incident where two ambassadors, one a human, and the other a batarian, came to blows during a meeting. The fight was so brutal, that both emissaries, as well as one aide who interfered, had to have medigel dispensed to close lacerations and wounds from bludgeoning one another with hard bound and statuettes.
“Those goddamned Alliance black hats.” Jason drawled, taking another sip of his watered down liquor. “They need to stop being so self righteous and xenophobic. It's like they'll never learn from the First Contact War. To top that off, they have knuckle dragging buffoons running the trade ministry.”
Libra sat beside Jason, Burke pouring a glass of juice for her and setting it on the table. He then went to lean on the counter, next to the asari. His father was the most socially and fiscally libertarian human in the galaxy as far as he knew, and disliked the Alliance with a hellishly romanticized passion. “Why should I hate the batarians?” He continued his rant. “They've done so much in helping out the common worker, and the colony. I don't agree with their slavery culture, but it's not my problem nor my business to regulate their way of life.”
“Maybe because the ones digging the irrigation ditches are indentured drell servants.” Burke always liked to add fuel to his dads political tirades, since it never really harmed him.
“Oh, hell Burke. They're being paid, so it's not really slavery or indentured servitude.”
“You mean getting free food and quarter and no other rights?” Burke took a long gulp of grape juice, waiting for his dad's outburst.
“Slaves in historic earth were treated far worse than most batarians treat their slaves and indentured servants.” He took another drink. “But we'll talk about this later. I wanted to bring this up...”
“El'Je hunting right?” Burke downed the rest of his juice, placing the glass in the dishwasher. “I've been hunting with you for five years and haven't hit anything.”
“This years hunting season is a few days away from expiring, son.” His father spoke, stepping up and downing the rest of the liquor, walking over to the sink to dump the ice. “We really want to show these two what it's like to hunt dangerous game like El'Je and Creek Varren.”
“But I can't shoot worth shit. No matter how many times I practice at the range.” Burke sighed, facing his father.
Jason very gently smacked his son on the top of his head. “Language. And son...” He placed one hand on his shoulder. “...I think you'll do it right this time. Plus, when season hits next, you'll be in the latter days of your senior year of high school.”
“Please? We'd love to watch you.” Libra bounced up and down in her chair. Libra's disarming adorableness got him every time, but deep seated into his desires, was the want to actually take down game as dangerous as El'Je. “I don't like guns anyway, they're loud...” His sister muttered.
“Alright, let's go hunt some El'Je before sunset.” Burke agreed, walking away and hearing a yipee as he went to change into his trail boots. “Do I still get the two header?”
“Unless you want to use the Harpoon sniper rifle I got last week.” His father cackled.
“Nah, that'd be overkill!” Burke smiled at the absurdity of such a powerful firearm. “I'll stick with the two header!”
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Burke stood in the den, motionless for a few minutes. The room was built partially underground, the ceiling sloped and having attached a few side sun roofs that connected to ground level, all which the inner automatic shutters were closed. There was a sofa, a coffee table, and several chairs scattered about the place, with an extranet terminal on one end. An unlit fireplace was installed in the wall to his right, which is the direction he looked.
He stared at the picture of his biological mother, smiling gingerly at the camera. He had hardly knew her, and very scarcely had memories of her. He knew of the sleepless nights after her unexpected demise, the cries for her when he was three or four, the complete confusion, frustration, and ignorance of the subject of death. He long since gotten over the emotional hurdle, but part of his subconscious was still sore at her absence.
He was not sure if his father took the death as harshly as he did, as the only memories, no matter how faint they would be, were him trying to comfort and reason with him.
He looked at a nearby photo of Nahla Rucinda and Jason, putting an arm over eachother. His asari stepmother, a trading ambassador, had comforted Jason and his son through the aftermath of the tragedy. The strong attachment to what remained of the Craddock family had served as a variable for her unconditional acceptance for Jason's proposal for a remarriage.
Burke felt toward Nahla the same way as most children would feel about a step parent. He by no means hated her, he really liked her, especially for bearing the sister he would have never had otherwise. It concluded toward the fact that she just was not, in fact, his actual mother.
It was widely declared that the Alliance officially made first contact with the human species, but the Planetary Republic of Cuno did so a few years beforehand, and that was not exactly common knowledge. It was because of this the farmers and residents of Cunos believed themselves to be more cultured than the Alliance, due to the fact that they negotiated well with the aliens during first encounter as proof that they were more reasonable and well mannered than their parent parliament. Burke always remembered his father declaring his belief in the “Alliance actually shot first” conspiracy theory, among his pile of others.
Every once in a while, Burke would have to meditate on the fact that things were not as bleak as they had the chance of being. This was one such time, and for the moment, he was done. He looked toward the double barreled scatter gun over the fireplace, reaching over and grabbing it off the rack. It was an old fashioned firearm, a foot longer than the compact modern military shotguns.
He sat down at the sofa, grasping at the carton of yellowish self accelerated shotgun cartridges, releasing the catch and drooping the front, exposing empty holes for each barrel. He loaded the shells into these slots, putting eight more cartridges into his belt loops, and placing the hunting cap upon his head.
It was a few hours later that they had placed themselves in the forested hunting ground seven miles away from the Craddock estate. The forests were serene even near sunset, chirping wildlife, minimal buzzing insects, and of course, the wild game.
A single El'Je huffed in satisfaction has he saw one of the Lugrets, a population of small subterranean mammals similar to moles and gophers. A single one of the animals jolted in a spastic stiff motion, turning its head and sniffing the air. The animal's lack in sight was one of many reasons that they were a favorite target among the predatory El'Je.
The El'Je was an animal not unlike a moose, with similar antlers, albeit predatory and sporting fangs and claws on his front feet. The El'Je was not entirely carnivorous, but in reality an omnivore. Though this reserve was used in winters where romping animals were scarce, though several types of plants still survived in the cold.
The beast moved in, gingerly stalking its prey. Little did he know, Jason Craddock sat in a wooden hunting post attached to a tree. On another post, Nahla and Libra sat, eagerly watching the scene.
Once they El'Je was in range of the Lugret's sight, the latter's ears perking up and his fur straight upright, he attempted to dive into his colony, only to be lunged at and grasped by the leg, trying to escape free.
A shot from a sniper rifle blasted off one of his antlers at half length, the sound echoing throughout the forest. The El'Je's felt absolutely nothing, his curiousness causing him to perk upright and drop the creature, who proceeded to dive inside the hole with a comical squealing sound.
Burke emerged from behind the trees, flanking the beast. One barrel fired, the fine steel buckshot accelerating toward it. It was a narrow miss, as a few bits caught the creature, one hitting the lower segment of its neck, the other grazing its left front leg. The El'Je were never in any mood to attack a creature who could fight back, and it roared and skittered away, Burke picking up the pace and chasing after it.
The chase carried them through many meters of woodland. The near tireless El'Je still sprinting through the woodland. Burke was far behind, breathing in heavy, concentrated strokes and carefully picking his footing, while still chasing to the best of his avail. This was not the first time he chased after a fleeing game, though he was certain he could catch this one.
The minorly wounded El'Je, certain that he had escaped his human attacker, stepped toward a nearby shallow waterfall, looking to see if it was okay to cross. He heard a snap to his right, seeing a rock tumble down the meadowside and plop into the river.
Burke peeked down his sights, aiming over a bush. His shortcut plan, as well as his brief distraction had worked. The beast turned his head once again, the human pulling the trigger of his shotgun, the weapon seeming to kick farther than it shot, as usual.
The El'Je laid by the river, killed instantly by one of the buckshot rounds piercing the core of his brain, severing the stem. Burke slowly approached the deceased animal, slain by his hand, instantly feeling remorse over his kill.
Among the sound of rushing water and rustling trees, he could hear footsteps. His father, still running, finally reached his son and placed the butt of his sniper rifle on the ground while leaning down and inspecting the corpse, smiling. “Now that, was a capitol shot.”
“I-” A tear ran down Burke's cheek. “I killed it.” He had always wanted to join one of the mercenary companies the Terminus System was famous for, but after this, he was having second thoughts about the prospect of taking another life. Jason stood up slowly, placing a hand on Burke's shoulder, knowing what he was feeling. More footsteps approached, Nahla and Libra awe stricken by the dead predator.
“Aww... you... you killed him...” Libra was feeling the same feeling as her human brother, ready to muster up tears.
Nahla distinguished the same reaction between the two, walking up and placing each hand on the shoulders of the children. “As the Goddess says, when the hunted are laid to rest...” She began a proverb. “They become one with the hunters, in both body and spirit.”
Burke was ready to buy into anything to make him feel better, but somehow her words sounded sincere, not matter how potentially superstitious they may be. He looked at the dead El'Je, as his father removed a hunting cup from his belt, using a dagger to cut along his neck and spill its blood into the cup.
Jason then lifted the cup with both hands toward his son, the sides and his fingers red with the fluid. “Hunting ritual. Go ahead, drink it. It's perfectly safe, though really salty.” He smiled warmly.
Burke, though slightly reluctant, grasped the cup, slowly putting it to his lips and sipping the warm liquid, the taste salty and metallic.
He could not help but feel in the least bit spiritual, looking back Nahla, who smiled. He half expected his little sister to cringe and gag at the sight, but she seemed to understand it, even if she was in the least bit disgusted. He looked back at his father, who patted him on the shoulder.
“His blood is yours.”
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Post by Cali on Apr 8, 2011 23:05:28 GMT 1
Chapter 13 – Master and the Lieutenant _____________________________________________________ Recommended Music:
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May 2174 Three years earlier
Twenty-eight year old Brooklyn Seltzer sat in the chair in the waiting room, her military dress shoes tapping up the carpeted floor. To entertain herself further, she looked out the nearby window into the Alliance Naval Academy campus to see a detachment of midshipmen marching along with one of the full officers, holding flags, lancer assault rifles, and batons. It was nearing the end of the semester, and these 'freshmen' were marching in perfect formation and synchronization, all a result of the intense training from the higher ranking midshipmen and officers.
The Creswell Systems Alliance Naval Academy was a former academy for the Australian navy, converted for use to train the best of the space faring Alliance naval officers. These academies numbered seven on earth, one for each continent. Brooklyn had spent a year at the academy in Annapolis before being transferred over to Creswell, for purposes that she would have rather not discussed openly to anyone who asked.
“Midshipman Seltzer?” The receptionist called out, leaning over her desk to spot the woman in question. “The head dean of Naval Aviation would like to see you now.”
Brooklyn stood up and nodded, adjusting the collar and lapels of her black Alliance naval academy uniform. She continued onto the office door, her throat drawing back and swallowing a large amount of saliva that gathered under her tongue. The mandatory meeting's subject matter was left to the imagination, as she had no idea what to expect Commander Trevarthen to discuss with her today.
She grasped the door's handle, the ingress swinging open and revealing Commander Trevarthen in all her short, grayish blonde haired glory, shuffling papers. On her desk sat a six foot tall skinny man in much more relaxed naval clothing, including a T-shirt, suspenders, blue trousers and standard issue boots. He looked to be no more than around twenty-five, sporting jet black hair and a set of scowling, angry hazel eyes. Brooklyn merely froze a few moments before standing at full attention.
“At ease, midshipman.” Commander Trevarthen ordered, not making eye contact as she rubbed some ink on a nearby paper, and continued typing away at her holographic flat screen computer console. “This is Staff Lieutenant Paterson of Alliance Naval Intelligence, he'll be sitting in on this meeting.”
“Don't fucking eyeball me, midshipman.” Paterson growled, not inching a muscle off the desk where he leaned. Brooklyn was scarcely aware that her eyes turned to glance at the lieutenant once again, and blinked, her eyes leering straight ahead of her once again. This was not a particularly decent first impression the intelligence officer was providing, but it was not rare for full blooded naval officers to thumb their noses at academy students.
“Midshipman 2nd Class Brooklyn Chosokabe Seltzer.” The commander brought up her file. “What exactly are you doing here, Ms. Seltzer?”
“I beg your pardon, ma'am?” Brooklyn asked.
“Oh, she didn't make the question blatantly accessible or anything!” Lt. Paterson responded in a raging sarcastic manner as he leaned forward, an angry face that could only be matched by Saint Michael himself. “Answer it for shit's sake!”
Brooklyn bit her upper lip. “I'm here because you sent for-”
“Don't miss the point. Why are you in the navy?”
Naturally, Brooklyn was still wondering what the lieutenant was doing here in the meeting. The military intelligence officer in a meeting with the dean was certainly a cause for concern. “I'm here to be a pilot. For Mother Earth and Humanity.”
“Yeah, and I'm here to get free hemorrhoid ointment from the medical plan.” Paterson piped, shrugging his shoulders. “Face it, commander. She's probably like the others who enlist; waiting for a chance to blow up a transport ship full of turian children because she's sore one of their daddies kicked her daddy in the nuts during First Contact.”
Trevarthen made a deceiving smile, ignoring Paterson's previous take. “Yes. You're here to be a pilot. Slated to graduate soon. Completed the final training exercise just yesterday, the Crucible Hour. How did it feel actually handling a frigate and journeying between mass relays?”
“I believe I earned those wings fair and square, ma'am.” Brooklyn confirmed.
The young and brash lieutenant did not answer to that particular statement. He straightened his posture, his rump lifting off the edge of the table and his legs stepping forth, pacing around the room.
“Well, your file, specifically your pre-military records have come across as rather peculiar to practically everyone who has read them.” She brought up the additional files by flicking her fingers across the navigation interfaces. Brooklyn was somewhat curious enough to have the desire to ask if she felt the same way, but instead resisted, as was expected of her.
“Well I really have to admit, midshipman...” Paterson spoke, taking out a stick of chewing gum from his pocket and placing it between two of his molars. He stepped closer to Brooklyn, but still far away enough to where he could yell at her and not cause superficial damage to her ears. “...when I read your file, one would think you probably wanted to prove something.”
Brooklyn scowled, not answering.
“A freaking four-point-one on your high school grade point average. A big fat diploma from Cornell Law, with a membership in the Stubjack Society. You're an ivy-league attorney, not a helmsman in the fleet. With something like that you could be making millions of credits defending rugby players and actors after they bludgeoned their spouses to death with their trophies or guild awards!” One side of his mouth mashed his chewing gum like cattle would chew cud. “Seltzer, what are you doing in my navy?”
“That's one reason why I didn't do anything with the law degree.” Brooklyn retorted. “I realized a little too late that lawyers really are credit chomping toolboxes and lying assholes.”
“Watch your fucking mouth midshipman, you are in the presence of goddamn superior officers!” Paterson did not bat an eye or move a limb even when shouting like an angry demon.
“Aye, aye sir.” Brooklyn complied, looking down at her feet again. Trevarthen was merely watching in anticipation, her hands folded upon the desk.
“What the hell are you doing with that hairstyle, Seltzer?” Paterson was referring to Brooklyn's front left section of her hair being dyed blonde upon dark. “Do they really let midshipmen disgrace their uniforms like this?”
“No excuse, sir.” Brooklyn decided it was best to just give in to the intelligence officer's overbearing demeanor, and let him take the lead in this tango of military hotheadedness.
“Drop in the bucket compared to some other stuff you did. Got into a fight with a midshipman one class ahead of you at Annapolis so they sent you down here to Creswell, huh?” He began pacing along a line in the room. “Even hacked a basic training firefight simulation back in '70 to give you an edge. Who the hell do you think you are? James Tiberius Kirk?”
“No sir.”
“Right.” He popped his gum once again, sitting back on the edge of the desk while crossing his arms and legs. “You're not Captain Kirk. Because Kirk wouldn't be indirectly responsible for killing his drill instructor in a terminal overload explosion, let alone dye his fucking hair like a slutty tabloid model.”
Brooklyn was starting to lose her patience with the lieutenant, but still controlled her breathing and resisted the urge to make murderous glares.
“Yeah, we know the military tribunal you went to ruled you not responsible for Gunnery Chief Joseph Brenna's untimely demise, but we all that was probably because the Alliance is constantly desperate for new recruits that they're willing to sweep anything under a rug.”
“Your family...” Trevarthen muttered, staring at the screen again.
“Second of four children. Older brother is in middle management in Sirta Foundation, younger sister is in medical school in Tokyo University, and the youngest brother is still in high school. Did I get that right?” Brooklyn still abstained from response, but was quite impressed by Patersons memory capacity.
“Mother currently making progress in a psychiatric hospital, because of the death of your father.” Paterson leaned forward. “How did dad die, Ms. Seltzer? Was it turians? Corporate spies? Natural freakin' causes?”
“Sniper took him out.” Brooklyn looked back up at him, breathing and speaking through closed teeth. “If you're so intelligent, why don't you tell me?”
Brooklyn immediately regretted what she had just said in her internal, but it looked like the lieutenant was going to ignore the insubordinate comment. He instead leaned back, his mouth prancing as he chewed the spearmint gum. “So even after all this time, you had plenty of months to be on the rag over this crap, why didn't you join the fleet sooner?”
“I didn't make decisions as fast as I do now. Sir.” Brooklyn glared at him. “I'm pretty goddamn serious about this, and I certainly was not that way at Cornell. Just ask the professors, and the lady who graded my BAR exam, which I barely passed.”
Trevarthen merely smiled at the scene in front of her, Paterson slowly turning his head to see the dean-commander's reaction. “Midshipman Seltzer, during a recruit's time at basic training, and their enrollment in any Alliance military academies, they are always observed by particular branches of the navy. Staff Lieutenant Paterson here, has been observing students like you for quite some time. What do you think of the midshipman, lieutenant?”
Paterson leaned over and spat his chewing gum into a wastebasket, then approached Brooklyn closer, his military boots heel-toeing perfectly. “Ms. Seltzer, I think you're a prudish, upper middle class ivy-league punk with an attitude problem and a mid life crisis that came a little too early.” He stopped, his arms unfolding and placing his hands at his hips. “And for that, I think you're just the type of person Naval Intel needs.”
Brooklyn finally got the hint. Even with her Cornell University education, she was not exactly expecting this.
Trevarthen stood up, circling around the desk. “Midshipman, if you were to enroll in the Naval Intelligence wing, you would ultimately skip your fourth academic year at Creswell, but the initial bonus pay is more than reasonable, and you will get to use your pilot wings for the best of purposes, and hold the rank of First Lieutenant.”
“Would make the fam more financially stable after what happened to your father, especially since one of your sister is still in college and your younger bro may be on that way. Pretty good deal if you ask me.” Paterson raised his eyebrows.
“You would spend more time away from Earth however, but from what I hear, and what the lieutenant obviously knows, it would never a dull moment.” Trevarthen leaned back against her own desk.
Paterson tilted his head. “It's your lucky chance. Lots of action, and good pay.
After the meeting they were in the downstairs lobby, the head dean still in her office. Paterson handed Brooklyn a folder full of papers. “Keep in mind that this stuff is really classified. That's why we're only running it through paper, and not the net. Don't lose any of this or show it to other midshipmen, or even faculty members.” Brooklyn grasped the folder and inspected it. It was unlabeled by name, but had a case file.
“You'll have a few days to study this.” Paterson continued. “Come meet me by the pier at 8:00 at Tuesday. I'll page your omni tool to remind you.”
With that, he stood at full attention, saluting Brooklyn, who returned. “Carry on, Midshipman.”
He trotted outside of the lobby doors, grasping the blue beret under his belt and placing it atop his head. Brooklyn looked back at the file, breaking the seal, but making sure no one else in the building was around. Curiously, she glanced through the papers, one of them having a photograph of a man in Blue Suns armor, brandishing a five o'clock shadow beard, cropped hair, and an assault rifle, one foot placed upon an unknown wounded and bloodied man who lay on the ground. The dossier identified the man, as “Craddock, Burke J.”
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Post by Cali on Apr 12, 2011 21:46:45 GMT 1
Chapter 14 – Turians Don't Cry
Febuary, 2177 Present Day
Darius laid on his back and gasped, breathing a sigh of relief as a sense of satisfactory euphoria swept his loins. The asari prostitute collapsed atop him, the turian reeling back as her shoulder struck his face, leaving it there as she caught her breath. Not bothering to let her know that she was blocking off his airway passage, he simply waited it out.
She raised herself up once again, Darius keeping his hands upon her bare waist, gasping for air once again. “Th-thanks.” He muttered.
“Your welcome.” The harlot responded in a toneless, dispassionate voice, not bothering to make eye contact as she removed himself from him, sitting on the edge of the bed. “You sure you're alright? Want me to use my hand or anything?”
“No, I'm good, thanks. I gotta head somewhere soon.” He sat up on the bed, refastening his leisure suit which he opened in the proper spot for the encounter. The asari stood up, showing off her heavily tattooed back that started from her shoulders to her tailbone. Her feet carried her through the length of the hotel room toward the bathroom.
“Listen I'll probably be gone when you get out, I'm leaving the money on the coffee table.” Darius produced a robust credit chit, which he held up for her to see. The asari turned, eying it and nodding. “Unless, uh... well...” Darius scratched one of his mandibles with his thumb. “I'm having dinner with some friends... you wanna... you know... come along?”
She glared at him with a pitying smirk, suppressing the urge to laugh. “You're pathetic.” She chuckled, continuing into the bathroom.
Darius turned, placing the credit chit on the designated spot, turning and heading toward the door. He heard the shower head start to run in the water closet. He paused as he took his cap off the rack, placed it over his head, and made his way toward the hotel hall. “I can see why folks get arrested for battering prostitutes now...” He muttered as he pressed the door control and head for the elevator.
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The particular segment of Zakera ward inside the Citadel was bustling that evening, as many of its laborers were just now getting off work. In some of the more narrow passages and halls, Darius could not cross them without brushing his shoulders against five pedestrians. Citadel Security constables watched over the herds, backs to the walls and hands swinging their electric truncheons.
He passed several cheap dining stands that sold noodles, sandwiches and greasy meats, usually packed with hungry working class 'Dellers' (slang for Citadel citizens) just trying to get a quick dinner. Darius then saw an opening that led into the interior of a spacious restaurant, neon letters in purple and red above it spelling “The Aquatic Vector”, a local restaurant, and his meeting spot.
Darius stepped in, hearing the pounding music, seeing the salarian usher in a rather expensive looking business suit. “How many?” He piped, looking up from his reservation list.
“I'm here for the Chandis party.” Darius responded.
“Second table from the bar. Enjoy your meal.” The receptionist nodded, continuing to watch for available customers.
Darius passed several waiters and waitresses, taking an eyeful of the fish in the large tanks built into the wall before spotting Brooklyn, as well as a familiar turian with reddish skin and a military uniform. The turian turned his head, standing up and nodding his head respectfully. It was then, Darius noticed one of his legs was prosthetic, starting just below the knee.
“Well if it isn't Sergeant-Major Macerdin.” Chanis extended his hand.
He shook the hand of General Chandis. “It's been a while Indul, sorry about the leg. Did they really have to amputate it?”
Macerdin chuckled. “The batarian pirate you saw that shot me back in '73 was using rounds imbued with an exotic toxin. Gave it a few years until it started eating away at my flesh, and it was diagnosed too late to treat it, so it had to go. I'm just glad it wasn't anything else.”
Brooklyn and Darius both laughed at the comment. “Yeah no kidding. Hey Brook, is Burke coming, or-”
“He's-” Brooklyn gulped, dressed in her usual brown leather mercenary jacket, slacks and boots. “He's in the restroom.”
“Ah.” Darius got the hint. “Well I was just about to head there myself. I'll, uh... go say hi to him.”
Burke laid a moderate rail of red sand out on the sink counter, farthest away from the door as he used a straw he took from the table and placed it in his nose, the bottom end hovering over an end. His bottom eye lids ascended toward the border of his iris, one finger pressing down on his free nostril. He inhaled slowly, then picked up the pace as the drug flew into his windpipes and down into his lungs.
He heard the door open when he was halfway into it, coughing and hiding the powder with his messenger bag. He looked over quickly to see Darius, and he breathed a rather loud and alarming sigh of relief, jumping up on him and embracing him. “Dare! It's good to see ya man!” He yelled, kissing him on one of his mandibles.
“For crying out loud, Burke!” Darius threw the intoxicated human off of him. “I invite you to meet an old friend of mine, a well respected one at that, and you're here doing rails in the bathroom!” The turian picked up the messenger bag off the counter to see the evidence of the red sand, which had partially been mashed astray.
“Nah, nah, it's uh- it's alright.” Burke produced a vial from his pocket, full of a gunky yellow liquid. “I got this supplement here... to er- UH- er- eh kill the side e-effects.” He rolled up one sleeve, ready to bite the cap off the needle hypo before he dropped it.
Darius sighed, walking over to the hypo and picking it up, popping the lid off. “Hold still.” He placed the needle into the side of his arm, distributing the substance, and patting him on the shoulder afterward.
“Get your things and go.” He placed the needle back into the messenger bag, ready to swipe the red sand off the counter before Burke grabbed him by the wrist and flung it away. “I'll be done in a second. Hang on.” He sounded like he was already regaining some ounce of sobriety, but was still somewhat zany.
Darius nodded, walking toward the door, keeping watch unless someone were to barge in. “You're lucky C-Sec doesn't hang around here.”
“Well (snort), they say this place is owned by a salarian mob boss.” Burke wheezed, wiping his nose and rubbing the remaining narcotic substance into the interior of his nostrils.
“Doubt it, but I wouldn't be entirely surprised.” Darius looked toward his feet. “You know... I feel kinda hypocritical trying to goad you out of your drug use.”
“Let me guess: You nailed an asari hooker at the hotel?” Burke placed the pack of red sand in the bag, as well as the straw.
“Yeah, I certainly did.” Darius should have known. “It just so happens that you're addicted to drugs... and I'm into vice.”
Burke adjusted his jacket and patted the remaining red sand out of his beard. “Why don't you ever hire a turian prostitute? Aren't they cheaper?”
“Practically non-existent, as a matter of fact. Turian women won't swallow their pride for anything, especially making credits off of a tumble.” He would rather have not had Burke mention turian females for his own arcane reasons, but the topic was inevitable.
Burke placed the bag over his shoulder and patted the turian on his back. “The turian people are a race of integrity and honor. That's why we hired you along.”
“Yes, with so much integrity that some of us hire asari escorts to put a damper on our sexual frustrations.” Darius made a chuckle. “Come on, let's go eat.”
“So you went to the academies on earth?” Chandis asked, his appetizer bowl of turian shellfish soup being served in front of him as he placed a napkin under his collar. “I have to say, the Systems Alliance has some very talented people in command.”
“I haven't really been keeping up since I left.” Brooklyn poured the bottled Heighliner brand beer into the chilled glass that was just served to her. “My last post was on board the Istanbul, a brand new cruiser at the time. I left soon after an assignment.”
“We all do eventually. Talk to Darius about it.” The general chuckled, taking a sip of the hot soup. “Was Mr. Craddock in the service? Where did you meet him?”
“He's a former Blue Sun.” Brooklyn eased back an ounce or two of beer, swallowing and setting the glass back on the table. “But don't tell him I told you this.”
Burke and Darius walked into hearing range of the party's table, Brooklyn smiling innocently at the former who looked at her with suspicious embarrassment, and the two seated.
“So.” Burke smiled and took a sip of ice water from the cup, gazing over the menu. “I'm certain Darius and you have quite a few stories to tell.”
“Do we ever.” Darius chuckled. “You wanna start, Indul?”
“Well.” Indul Chandis set his spoon down and used his napkin to wipe his mouth. “As you know, S.P.E.A.R is an acronym for Special Echelon for Assault and Response, the turian equivalent to the Systems Alliance N7s I imagine. So if I told you all of our stories we'd be here till the keepers drag us out.”
“He's not kidding.” Darius confirmed, placing a hand into a bowl of spiced nuts and chomping on them.
“So I'll tell you one that stands out. Probably the best one.” Chandis continued. “So back in 2165 there's this major colony unrest on Partha over a food and fuel tariff...”
“Oh not this story, ANYTHING but this one.” Darius laughed in embarrassment, waving his hands.
“Oh they have to know this one, Macerdin.” Indul cleared his throat. “So after the tariff was announced, we were called in, even though we usually don't do jobs like this at all. Darius was just a corporal back then, fresh enough to be a little green, but experienced enough to know better.”
“Oh, that stung.” Darius shook his head.
“So anyway, we drop in, the place is lit up with protests and rioting, most nonviolent. Our job was to secure the communications center and bring it back online, and afterward, set up the broadcast line from the planetary governor so he could try to talk down the rioters. There were these two assholes firing on police and civilians and mixing in the crowd, so we were called in. Darius was told to go to the comm center all alone.” Indul's mandibles were twitching with contained laughter.
“I like where this is going.” Burke smiled and leaned back, taking a sip of his water. Darius shook his head, slightly embarrassed.
“So were hunting these two assholes. Sergeant Varrick takes out one of them and I'm hunting down the second. Meanwhile in the comm relay, Darius is hacking into the communications center, and he brings it online, only it's a different channel. It's a dance music station from the Citadel, full blast.”
Burke and Brooklyn simultaneously burst into laughter, Indul joining in, Darius leaning back and waving them off.
“So- so all the rioters just start bobbing up and down, prancing and banging their heads. We finally track down the second gunman, and I tackle him while he's just standing there in an alley, wondering what the hell was going on. Darius saved the day.” The general continued to laugh, the story never getting old for him.
Brooklyn was in tears as she clutched her chest, and Burke had his head in his plate as the breath was drawn from his lungs from the laughter. Darius then gave in and chuckled. “Okay, maybe it is a little funny.”
Brooklyn took her napkin and dabbed her eyes. “Oh, man. That was rich.”
The general looked confused. “I thought you humans and the asari only did that when you were grieving or hurt by something.”
“What? Tear up? Not limited to that.” Burke corrected.
“I was laughing so hard I had tears in my eyes. You've never cried before, or had something?” Brooklyn asked, placing the napkin back in her lap.
“Haven't I told you this before?” Darius asked. “Turians don't cry.”
All four of them were silent for a while, staring at one another with twitching smirks. Burke started snickering, Brooklyn and Darius joining him. Meanwhile, it all turned into howling laughter.
Many a minute later, their entrees had come in, Darius and Indul had ordered turian shark meat. Burke had ordered a salarian style pasta with shellfish, a fruit sauce, and circular shaped dumplings. Brooklyn ordered an earth style steak, with a side item of yams and celery. Most of them had already consumed half of their meals, Brooklyn being a slow eater and still finishing off the side items and had not yet dug into the meat.
“-but as much as I enjoyed my time in S.P.E.A.R, the assignments were just so taxing and dangerous that I'm quite glad to be having a desk job nowadays.” Indul Chandis sat back, a glass of green turian wine in his hand as he swilled it. “But most of the stuff I did wasn't compared to what you guys did yesterday.” He stood up, taking a small metal box he carried with him, bearing the S.P.E.A.R logo, and opening it, and circling around them. “They told me to deliver these to you personally and informally.”
He withdrew the turian Medal of Valor and began pinning it to Burke's jacket. “Oh come on general.”
He moved onto Brooklyn, pinning the medal to her jacket. “For going to great lengths to save the Hierarchy's citizens, all of you deserve this commendation.”
“Thank you general.” Brooklyn nodded.
“How nice, Chandis.” Darius nodded as he medal was being pinned into his suit. “This must be my third.”
“Guess so.” He pat his old comrade on the shoulder, who stood up. They both raised glasses, clinking them together. “To the Hierarchy.” They both spoke simultaneously, taking a long sip of turian green wine together.
Burke raised his glass of Goddess Tears. “How about this: To comradeship.”
Indul looked back and raised his glass. “May it never be laid to rest.” All four of the patrons took a drink afterward, all seating when it was over, and continuing to eat.
Chandis' fork was running across his fish, not eating it as much as he was playing with it. Darius looked back up. “Are you alright there, general?”
“Yes, there's just something rather serious I wanted to talk to you all about, and I'm glad you brought your associates along with you Macerdin.” He leaned forward, folding his hands together. “These Blue Suns your hunting... it's possible that they are being led by Gustard Ukoirnas.”
Darius and Burke nearly choked on their meals, dropping his silverware into the plate. “Are you serious?” Darius coughed.
Burke began to eat his dumplings even faster when Brooklyn had to ask the question. “Wait a minute, who's Ukoirnas?”
“He's a former general in the turian marines. A real bloodthirsty bastard.” Darius answered, feeling he had to down the remainder of his wine after the mere mention of the fallen general in question.
“He had a reputation for being too militant, even by turian standards. A veteran of many anti pirate campaigns as well as the First Contact war, where he led boarding platoons; marines who boarded Alliance ships and killed resisting crew members before capturing the vessels.” He leaned back. “The man had no other reason to live apart from war. He badgered his superiors for assignments, made commissions and requests for more campaigns. Eventually, threatened with demotion and reassignment to a desk position, he left the military altogether.”
“And then he joined the Blue Suns.” Burke scratched an eyebrow.
“Wait a minute, I think I remember... wasn't he your commanding officer, Burke?” Brooklyn leaned over to face him.
“From '69 to '71, yes. Quite a hardass, but respected his men nonetheless.”
“Fair enough.” Brooklyn continued to slice pieces off her steak. “What do he and the Suns hope to get out of exterminating innocent civilians? Particularly that of his own race.”
“That I'm not certain of.” The general finished off the remainder of his meal, leaving a credit chit upon the table. “It's possible he's gone rogue within the Blue Suns as well. This makes him all the more dangerous than he has ever been. You must be very careful if you are to take him head-on.” He stood up, adjusting his military suit, shaking the hand of everyone at the table. “I'm sorry, but I have to be at a board meeting in a few minutes.”
“I thought you on vacation. You still that much of a workaholic?” Darius asked.
“Ha. Indeed. This is Citadel Security related, however. Anyway, take care. Nice to meet you two. Keep up the good work.” He stood firm and saluted, grabbing his box and walking out. The three privateers merely sat at their stations, continuing to sip their drinks and eat at their food without saying anything else, shrouding their concern for the assignment.
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