Khaela, Cruiser UNSC Apollo. Earth Orbit.
This time, one of the possessed avatars entered Jacob Reyes's lab. The combat one was currently on Tuchanka, negotiating with the Krogan. But this 57-year-old man needed to be dealt with. He had already settled in quite well on the ship and had started taking up the simulator in the lab during his free time again. And if that was the case, let him do something useful. We didn't give him access to the simulator for entertainment.
This time, he noticed the possessed one entering the room.
Unlike Margaret Parangosky, this was a fairly petite girl, without the slightest external musculature. One meter sixty tall, thin arms, neat glasses with augmented reality projected onto the lenses, gloves connected to a virtual keyboard. In short, a typical administrator of some corporation.
A blonde, unlike the combat platform. Essentially no figure, practically a teenager in body shape, small and inconspicuous, looking about thirty years old. Only the slightly glowing eyes gave away that something was wrong. Well, and the fact that such a girl clearly had a high clearance. On the intelligence flagship, for a second.
The man, noticing the platform, nodded, turning around.
"Greetings. Looking for me?"
The platform nodded in response and bowed slightly. Waiting for a return bow, she said:
"Hello, Chief Engineer Jacob. Settled in?"
The man spun around, gesturing to the lab and the simulator.
"Amazing. Huge computing power. And this is a combat cruiser, not a specialized lab. Amazing! I never thought a combat ship could house something like this. This kind of equipment wouldn't be out of place in major laboratories. And even more. Where did all this come from? If it's not a secret, of course."
The platform smiled.
"Well, technically this is the Vice Admiral's command ship. With all that entails. There might be some disdain for the military among civilians, but we can afford both the equipment and the research."
And there are several AIs constantly hanging around here, helping with calculations and looking after the scientists themselves. So the ship's computing and throughput capacity is sufficient for everyone to have enough resources. A command machine that has undergone upgrades specifically for such active use. And continues to undergo them. I expect when the time comes, the UNSC Apollo will remain a command ship for that reason alone.
The Chief Engineer decided to joke in response:
"I'll note that I didn't say any such thing. Besides, you work here."
Not much of a compliment. On the other hand, he was trying. So the social module suggested a response:
"Thank you. Usually, corporate arrogance is built on the difference between their infantry and ours, without understanding the reasons. Intelligence does a lot for Humanity, including engaging in cutting-edge developments for which corporations lack the permits. Now you're with us; you can consider this a promotion."
The man nodded. It seemed the reminder of intelligence didn't improve his mood. I should do it more often; he works for ONI now, he should get used to it.
"Forgive me, it's just impressive. I expected something a bit different, so I'm surprised. So, how can I help?" the man asked, pulling himself together.
And now, the platform's sleight of hand. A few taps on the tablet, typing commands on the virtual keyboard. Instead of an engine image, a hydrogen atom with fifty neutrons appeared. The man sighed, looking at the platform as if she were a fool. It seemed he had just lowered her IQ by about seventy percent.
"What do you say?"
He sighed and turned off the image with one movement.
"Miss..."
Speaking of which. I hadn't thought of a name for the platform!
"Dana. Miss Dana, Chief Engineer. Junior Research Fellow Dana," the avatar raised a hand, "and before you say something you'll have to apologize for, look at this."
And she displayed the data on Eezo (E-Zero) and known reactions. In the Mass Effect Core, anti-gravity systems, in weapons, in magnetic storage. Classified information, as it happens.
Jacob Reyes glanced at the data and turned back to the avatar, showing increasing disappointment.
"Miss Dana. Don't. I understand you've seen what you think is a promising development that should probably raise you to the scientific Olympus, but understand, it doesn't work."
And he looks at her so condescendingly. If only he'd read about Eezo (E-Zero). Well, his own fault. The avatar noticed.
"I must admit, I'm disappointed. When I lobbied for your transfer to this ship, I expected to see a specialist who went to serve a corporation for the opportunities. Not a whiner longing for easy money."
He wasn't moved. The man sighed, returning the hydrogen image to the screen.
"Understand, Dana. I don't deny that you might be doing an excellent job. Management values you, whatever you do. Perhaps you're a good administrator. Но understand, scientists of a much larger caliber have been working on this task for more than a century before you. Yes, I was interested in this in my youth, but then I realized the futility of this line of research. I'm not calling you stupid, but it really doesn't work."
How stupid people can be sometimes.
"Have you tried reading? The second tab. It's quite amusing to watch you try to talk me out of it. Your problem is that you decided you were smarter than all of us. That you have a stupid student or a secretary in front of you. You made your conclusions without even looking into it. And you're a scientist! Now I'll tell you, Jacob: read. You still haven't realized where you are. And that's why there will be no sanctions. For now. Stop pretending to be something you're not. You're not my type, and you're a poor fit for a wise sensei. Read. Immediately."
The man looked at the text. At the avatar. Looked at the data again. Looked at me, tossing a cylinder of Eezo (E-Zero) pulled from a belt pouch in my hand. He swallowed.
"You're not trying to say you're holding a sample of this completely impossible material, the absolutely fantastic specs of which you just sent over? Miss Dana? This isn't a joke, right? I'll assume it's not a joke."
The avatar spread her hands with the cylinder.
"Well, I'm a stupid Junior Research Fellow who got her position by sleeping with the first officer and completely understands nothing compared to the great you. So I decided to be a proper girl and not offend your ears with my stupidity," no, we won't be turning away.
The social module is fuming. The man sighed.
"I didn't say that."
The avatar remarked boredly:
"The disappointment in my intellect was written so clearly on your face that words are completely unnecessary. In the end, who am I, and who are you? To compensate for my general lack of neurons, I need to be able to read the emotions and desires of the leader," and batted her eyelashes, brazenly copying a reaction found online. Now to adjust her clothes while our new employee processes reality and stares at me. What's the next thing to do when pretending to be pretty but dumb?
At this, the victim gave up and waved his hands.
"I get it, I realized! I'm sorry! Okay?" at my nod, made with a four-second delay, he exhaled audibly, "thank you. Now seriously..."
The avatar frowned. The social module is dangerous and vengeful. And she interrupted the man.
"I am perfectly serious. If you aren't ready to perceive me as a colleague, but only as a pretty coffee stand, that's strictly your problem. Our cooperation is only possible with mutual respect. Which I don't see. Agreed, Jacob?"
He sat right down on the floor, holding his temples. It's clear why he fell out with the female half of his own family, with that attitude.
"I didn't mean that. Just! Let's talk business! About neutrons! And hydrogen! About this mineral you have in your hand! All of that, right?" it seemed he was choosing his words to avoid mentioning me, the platform, as a female individual at all.
The man pointed again to the screen with the Eezo (E-Zero) data. In response, I showed a magnetic storage unit on the neighboring projector.
"A working plasma power cell. Approximately five hundred units exist; it's stable. Mass production has just been established, but the project is useful. The defect rate is within the margin of error."
The man immediately carefully picked up and moved the platform to the wall (just picked her up by the arms and moved her), turning to the data. And he was silent for almost forty minutes, clearly scanning the information and general developments quickly. Given the reaction, once I leave him alone, he'll bury himself in study.
Progress already; the social module is certain that without my actions, he would have assigned the information a low priority as soon as he saw what it was about.
And I need this work! This active hydrogen is needed in warheads, in emitters. The "Black Light" warhead cooked the Forerunners quite well along with their armor. And now it's become possible to replicate it. Yes, for small ships, ordinary high-explosive warheads are enough, but neutron bombardment will simply evaporate the super-dense armor of ships, welding the crew right through the armor. Moreover, such a warhead is much more compact than high explosives. Not to mention hand-held emitters; a flamethrower is insufficient for Forerunners, especially their robots.
And such an emitter, especially if the activity of the substance is regulated by changing the temperature, is quite ultimate. And now, when there is a technological base to create the device, the scientist is acting like an idiot. I lack the data to conduct the calculations myself, but he doesn't have that problem!
After forty minutes, my time started running out. A test is scheduled in the hangar, and I've been gone for over half an hour. The scientists are nervous. Time to nudge this one; I haven't given him everything yet. I need to witness the data transfer.
"This is... just amazing! This will overturn all scientific thought. Projects, prospects. Production... Weightless ships..."
At this, the avatar snorted, displaying the energy consumption for Mass Effect Core operation on the screen with a wave of her hand, which made the man visibly sour. Time for business; this platform is expected in the test chamber. Administrator Brin is an asshole.
"Now, if you've recovered a bit, let's go back to where we started. Super-saturated neutron hydrogen, formed as a parasitic reaction in Slipspace at the boundary of the stabilized zone. Our mutual masters want us to put this in a magnetic bottle and send it at the enemy."
This time, the look and reactions no longer betrayed that degree of categoricalness. Progress.
"I think it's possible. But it's damn dangerous. Such an infantryman would be almost more dangerous to allies than to enemies. The slightest damage to the containment, and he'll cover everyone around with radiation."
The social module almost demanded to say something like: "oh, so you can be constructive if you want to." But I held back the reaction. I don't need a conflict. For now.
"I know, so it's intended that these capsules will be used either as artillery shells or rocket warheads, or for heavy special forces. For example, a modification of MJOLNIR Armor. A small production run, a special level of survivability. Agree—there is potential. Especially since the reaction rate can be slowed down using ultra-low temperatures. Or give the device to a robot."
The man reluctantly admitted:
"There is. There's potential to turn into a bomb. But that's no reason to give up on science, right?" receiving a nod, he continued, "alright, once I've studied the new data, I'll get on it. And I'll need a container; it should be configured to receive the substance."
The avatar nodded again with a polite smile, taking a key card from her pocket and placing it on the table.
"Now you have clearance for certain projects. Study them, you can participate. But neutrons are your priority," as she approached the door, she decided to add some pathos, "and remember: everyone has the right to doubt. What you do not have is the ability to doubt the Vice Admiral's decisions. She is your god on this ship. Everyone believes in her; she is the source of everything and can occasionally work miracles for the most faithful apostles. You may consider me stupid; that is your right. But if the Vice Admiral orders you, you go and do it. Or convincingly prove why, without a small miracle, your modest human strength is insufficient. Good day."
When I left, Ajax specifically transmitted an image from the camera in the room, where the man shook his head and said:
"Junior Research Fellow. With her clearance and at her age. I wonder if they have security officers with doctorates here?"
I sent Ajax an emotion of amusement in response and moved down the corridor. 8:46 AM ship time. I'm late! Now, where's that monorail?
***
Orbit of Oma Ker. Turian Hierarchy Fleet.
With the departure of the enemy's strike forces toward Palaven, things didn't get any easier. And no, the enemy super-ship hadn't reached the Hierarchy capital yet, but their scouts and advance units were already there, and it was foolish to think the flagship would appear anywhere else. But many remained at Oma Ker as well.
Significant ground forces were still on the planet, and about a third of the enemy fleet was in orbit. And they, finding themselves in a more difficult situation, began to act more harshly, delivering plasma strikes including on the surface. Previously, they hadn't allowed themselves to burn cities from orbit. And this proved extremely destructive; entire blocks went up in blue plasma fire.
The troops retreated into the tunnels, coming to the surface only to deliver strikes.
Perhaps today they would be able to answer them. Yes, the Hierarchy forces could now act much more freely. Now it was a matter of the colony's survival, so even banned weapons could be accepted. It was still a huge risk, and reinforcements could no longer be expected, but the facts spoke for themselves: the enemy wins in a direct firefight; they needed to act more harshly. If we want to win and survive.
Now, when the colony still had to be retaken, and reinforcements or supplies would be fewer, more radical solutions could be allowed. Simply because anything less wouldn't work.
And the turian commander was also convincing himself that detonating a thermonuclear warhead over a turian city was normal. Originally, it was intended for that colossal ship, but it had left the system, likely toward Palaven, leaving two super-dreadnoughts behind. One was likely in the jamming zone, the second over the capital, having taken the place of the colossal ship.
The news that the enemy had reached Palaven is depressing, especially since two-thirds of the enemy fleet had gone that way. According to reports, the enemy is not in a hurry yet, carefully destroying bases on the planet's moons but not approaching it. But it's only a matter of time.
The only option that comes to mind is to conduct a successful operation here to draw part of the fleet from Palaven back here. And thereby buy time and opportunities for them.
The plan is simple: asteroids, a thermonuclear warhead in a Kodiak Shuttle, and a strike group. Everything combined should punch a sufficient window for the charge to bring the ship down onto the planet's surface. Yes, onto the city. But only the enemy remained under the ship, and the damage is worth it. These super-dreadnoughts hold up against an indecent amount of shells. If they are taken out, the task will still be difficult, but solvable. That's what the analysts say.
The hardest part remains—winning.
Bringing asteroids up to a kilometer in size to Oma Ker's orbit—small and light enough to allow for engines and VI for maneuvering—is a simple matter. Mass Effect makes this task quite easy. Assembling a strike group and planes controlled by VI for mass and a diversionary maneuver is also simple.
A fairly old turian pilot was chosen as the pilot of the plane with the bomb. Naturally, the essence of the task was explained to him, as was the fact that it was a one-way trip. Personally by the commander, as the situation was non-standard.
"You can still refuse."
To this, he only chuckled and replied:
"I'm going to shoot down the most enormous vessel in Citadel history, not even just the Hierarchy's. How can I refuse? Is this a joke?"
"And at what cost?"
He only waved it off.
"Boy! What do you understand. I've lived a long life fighting for the Hierarchy. We chased Batarians, pirates, Krogan. Even Asari and Salarians. And I almost missed these bastards. I'm already old and wouldn't mind going out like this. Now, time to prepare for the attack."
And he disconnected. No more questions arose.
The attack took place in several stages. The first was a bombardment. The dreadnoughts dispersed in the most scattered formation possible with cover, so that if the enemy made jumps directly into the formation (as they had already done), as few Hierarchy ships as possible would be hit. There would be no reinforcements; every ship counted. And that meant maneuverability and FTL as the solution to any question.
The enemy ships, in response to the bombardment, formed up and began a counterattack; some jumped into the turian formation, some simply moved head-on. Also an unpleasant tactic that hindered maneuvering. Some Covenant ships immediately ran into mines upon exiting, partially or completely losing shields and opening up for bombardment. But most importantly, they repositioned, and the flagship ended up in the rear, at a distance from the defenders. The commander bared his teeth.
"Excellent. Second phase, begin the jump!"
Two formations of ships tore each other apart. The rare and powerful, shielded, and energy-weapon-wielding purple Covenant forces against the bird-like Hierarchy ships, firing a slug every two seconds. The super-ships were almost gone, and a peculiar parity was established in the firefight. The Hierarchy's focused fire allows them to punch through the shields of smaller ships and destroy them.
In response, plasma torpedoes, which are not particularly well-contained by the GARDIAN system. Only an evasive maneuver; after all, the torpedoes' tracking is limited. Plus the plasma streams melting the defenders from ships that jumped into close combat. The task of this Hierarchy unit is to distract, to maneuver. To make the enemy chase them. To buy time.
And at that moment, a strike group of cruisers and transports appeared in the rear of the Covenant forces. The cruisers immediately began turning to attack the enemy; the escorts opened fire on the small ships.
And numerous Strike Craft and fairly large asteroids began to separate from the transports, hurtling toward the planet with increasing acceleration on installed engines. The Covenant didn't expect to be flanked from the rear and began turning with a noticeable delay. Furthermore, several transports fired asteroids into the Covenant formation, forcing them not only to turn but also to evade.
"Arrow-1 and cover, go. Drop group, distract them, but prepare to retreat."
"Understood. Continuing the attack."
After all, in close combat, the cruisers and the completely unshielded transports wouldn't last long. They just needed to distract attention from the main direction of the attack. A little more time.
"The super-dreadnought isn't moving. They haven't noticed yet."
"Excellent. Continue."
At the same time, the turian pilot, gripping the control sticks, hurtled toward the planet, breathing with difficulty from the pressure bearing down on him. Another handle was installed nearby—the detonator. The reason was simple:
"If you can't break through, the ship with the bomb will crash into the city. It will trigger automatically as soon as the machine approaches the target. Но if not, the remaining defenders in the city must be saved."
"I understand, Commander."
And he really did understand. A maneuver on the edge of a gamble. That the enemy wouldn't realize and wouldn't pay attention to a small ship among the huge and dangerous boulders. That they didn't have weapons allowing them to quickly take out the asteroids. That the ship wouldn't move aside far enough for the bombardment not to hit the city. A gamble that would work once. Which, in case of success, would destroy the enemy flagship and significantly raise the defenders' morale and make the enemy's life harder. That he wouldn't return.
Therefore, the Hierarchy ground-attack aircraft with a lone pilot and a swarm of VI-controlled interceptors under the cover of space rocks are falling on their target. Because in case of success, it will be a victory, and a super-dreadnought that withstood the bombardment of an entire dreadnought formation and didn't even lose its shields will be destroyed by a single interceptor. At the cost of just one turian life. A colossal success.
On the radar, many dots of ships began to disappear. The enemy turned around, and the forces were retreating to avoid being destroyed. And the Covenant shifted fire to the cargo falling on their command's heads.
"Now it's just me and you. That's enough."
He was almost laughing, dodging the plasma flashes of the anti-aircraft system. One of the asteroids lit up when a blue beam struck it from the surface. Almost a third of the stone melted, but it held.
"Run! The Hierarchy always wins, so run!"
The turian laughed, working the maneuvering thrusters fiercely, at the limit of possibility, almost melting the engines. The interceptors engaged in battle with the enemy's Strike Craft. They wouldn't manage, stupid pieces of metal, but they would distract attention. And that was all that was needed.
The ship below began to move. Too late; the engines on the asteroids began course correction, leaving a trail of fire behind them in the atmosphere and hiding his small and inconspicuous little ship.
"Slow! Slow! Me or all of you!"
One small ship noticed the Hierarchy machine and tried to intercept. Cannon fire tore the enemy's nose apart, though it left several holes in the hull. The system wailed, warning of depressurization. But it didn't matter. Thirty seconds.
The enemy ship began to accelerate, but the turian, no longer caring about stealth, went to full afterburner, burning out the engines. Ten seconds.
More and more plasma trails streaked past the ship. The ship jolted; it spun as a plasma explosion burned out an engine and tore off a wing. The turian laughed. What happened next, he didn't know. He lost consciousness a second before the detonation system triggered, having detected the loss of control and the pilot's signal.
And then, a new sun ignited over the ship hanging over the city. The flash fried electronics and blew out windows in the city below; some buildings collapsed with a roar, unable to withstand the explosion and previously damaged by fires and shelling.
The ship and its shields managed to absorb most of the explosion, which occurred exactly ten meters above them. The shields flared and died, literally stripped away by the detonation. The ship was thrown downward toward the planet by the explosion. The anti-grav partially compensated for the effect, but the rear part struck the surface with force, plowing through buildings.
Then internal detonations began, the hull deformed, and the power went out. Then it came back on, and on the port side, the anti-gravs themselves detonated. The ship spun around its axis; the anti-gravity system couldn't handle the task, and the ship crashed onto the planet belly-up with an infernal roar.
Onto which, a second later, an asteroid fell, biting into the metal and breaking the hull into halves. Unfortunately, the fact of the explosion itself prevented the moment of the lone pilot's triumph from being captured. And the nuclear explosion, followed by the stones from the heavens, effectively erased the capital to zero.
But the shot taken by a scout, of the five-kilometer carcass glowing with purple flame, was worth all of it. Overturned, mangled. The news was spread among the Hierarchy forces, and with the help of the Shadow Broker (strictly voluntarily), it reached the Extranet and the Humans. Everyone needs a victory now. Even such a one. Especially such a one. As does the name of the lone turian pilot who did what a fleet of dreadnoughts couldn't. Albeit with the support of that very fleet.
Especially since on the distant approaches to Palaven, the battle was already in full swing.
***
In the darkness of space, a black, squid-like ship stirred. It was supposed to drift for several more cycles, but a message had come from the Operative about the failure of the transport system. And not just a simple failure, but an obvious destruction of the inactive mechanism. A check was required.
The ship was enveloped in crimson lightning as ancient mechanisms woke from sleep.
Connecting to Prothean servants... Successful. Task assignment.
Search for infected servants. Successful. Analysis. Task assignment.
So that's how it is; the organics have presented surprises. An investigation should be conducted.
The machine began to accelerate, conducting a full systems check. Nazara had awakened.
***
Read the story months before public release — early chapters are on my Patreon: https://www.patreon.com/Granulan