Khaela, Omega.
For an inhabitant of a starship, sudden alarms are a way of life. Drills, drills, unexpected orders, drills, combat operations, and more drills. Usually, this doesn't affect me due to my proximity to the boss, and "sudden" incidents aren't sudden for me. Not this time.
Suddenly, I had to drop everything, grab the combat Avatar returning from a mission, another tailed Possessed to complete the set, and board a stealth Frigate, since they have a Mass Effect Core. Why? The Vice Admiral said this:
"The Asari Republics government has contacted us. More specifically, the Matriarchs, but in this case, it's the same thing. They realize The Covenant won't leave them alone and have requested negotiations. On Omega Station, as you understand, unofficially. Our delegation will consist of your Possessed, in case of a trap. I don't want to pit Humans who possess information against thousand-year-old witches capable of reading memory. Therefore, robots and a single diplomat will go. In case of a threat of capture, he must be eliminated before he is read. Black Box will transmit the data and plans for the meeting place. Questions?"
There are a couple.
"May I deploy experimental weaponry? We've gathered samples; they need testing in combat conditions."
"Vaporized test samples and terrified scientists aren't enough?" the woman raised an eyebrow slightly.
The hologram spread its hands.
"The Shard of Mendicant Bias and I have worked on creating automated platforms for weapons. Omega is ideal for testing. Avatars, spacers. If we turn everything there into radioactive ruins, no one will be sorry. Maybe Omega will even become cleaner."
In short, we choose from two forms. The first is a Geth-humanoid based on a Krogan or a Geth Stalker. A build focused on durability or agility. In the case of agility, a Geth; in the case of durability, a platform resembling a Krogan with a shield in heavy armor. In both cases, the emitter is built into the body on the back; it can be mounted in the arm or under it so that, besides the emitter, conventional weaponry can also be used.
The second option is a more classic spider-robot. About the size of a large dog, it has four legs and is equipped with a plasma cutter and an emitter. This machine can breach doors and equipment, processing the enemy in the corridors of ships and buildings with blades, a cutter, and an emitter. The robot can also be equipped with an assault rifle; the complex of cutters makes it truly ubiquitous.
And considering we made it together with Mendicant Bias...
I almost pity the Quarians. Almost. They brought the situation to this point themselves.
In the end, the Vice Admiral gave the go-ahead for the meeting, and the ship departed for Omega Station. I pondered how best to set up the situation.
Humans—minimum, which is obvious. The question here is how best to frame the meeting itself. Oh yes. While the black wedge of the ship hurtles through space, there is time to do some work. We must be ready for anything.
***
Thel 'Vadam's appointment to watch over this foul station was clearly a punishment. For the failure on the planet, likely, when the enemy with a clever maneuver lured them under anti-ship guns and his fleet took damage, and the attack stalled. The ships were managed to be withdrawn to the rear, though not all; damage had been dealt.
A competent trap, taking into account the specifics of Covenant ship combat, and yet a defeat that should serve as a lesson. And the young Sangheili commander was sent to Omega. As a reminder of what awaits incompetent commanders.
He liked the new races encountered in the battles. The Turians, resembling the Sangheili themselves, defend their worlds with tenacity. Inventive, professional, they stand to the death without hesitation, fighting against Covenant Empire forces even knowing they are weaker, seeking victory through cunning and achieving it. When they accept the Truth, another race of true warriors will appear in The Covenant, far more worthy than either Unggoy, Kig-Yar, or Jiralhanae. The Sangheili will ensure they take a worthy place.
The other races of the formation proved themselves to a much lesser extent, but were also interesting. These gravity manipulations from the blue-skinned ones who look like Humans, the amphibian saboteurs. All of them, at the cost of huge losses and risks, managed to buy themselves time. A victory in battle for which they paid with their blood. But the divine mission of The Covenant cannot be stopped; soon they will understand this and accept the Truth. They have no choice.
This station, where the Sangheili found himself in punishment, was a mockery of everything they believe in. Resembling an ugly, scaled-down copy of High Charity, unlike the divine capital fed by the great bearer of the wisdom of the gods, it is the bottom of the local civilization, on the level of the most remote and foul Kig-Yar dens. Filthy, dirty, with heavy air, inhabited by the most savage, wretched, and greedy representatives of their species.
And what is this, if not punishment? The commander's order was clear. Not to destroy this place, incinerating this heretical mockery of the holy capital with the plasma of the flagship, but to watch over it, like the leader of a pirate gang. He wanted to snarl, he wanted to kill. But such was his punishment and his penance, and he would endure it with honor, bringing divine wisdom to these wretches.
On the plus side of Omega, one could note only the presence of representatives of many races here. They could be captured and studied, and no one would notice anything, as the mortality rate here is high.
For example, the Vorcha: they live short lives, but easily accepted the wisdom of the Prophets and are ready, having received weapons, to fight for this knowledge, sparing no lives. Good regeneration allows them to survive attacks by kinetic weapons; they respond well to training. Likely in the future, the Jiralhanae will turn them into servants, naive and loyal. And the capture of this station in the coming weeks will be a test of faith for them.
And the first fruits of the new disciples of The Great Journey have already been brought, having overheard exactly where the Humans intend to desecrate this station with their existence. He didn't want to sacrifice the Vorcha; they needed to increase their numbers; it was too early to attract attention. But reducing the number of various scum was exactly what was needed. Especially since they (the so-called mercenaries) were ready to die themselves for a certain fee.
Very soon this place will be cleansed of both Humans and sinners. For now, the deal between the Humans and those who arrive at their call should be disrupted.
The Covenant had occupied part of a station compartment for its needs, sufficiently remote, among the scum. Turning this place into a small hangar capable of holding a Phantom was not difficult. As was making this corner of the station more comfortable for them, cleansed of heresy. Significant repairs were required, but that was not a problem. For all this is for the good.
Scanners detected the arrival of a ship moving toward the hangar indicated by the spy, and a little further, another one. That means it's time. Thel 'Vadam grinned with satisfaction; soon the heresy would be cleansed. The Sangheili turned to the Batarian mercenary standing by the wall at the entrance to the room:
"Kill them all," he ordered the four-eyed mercenary, who was examining a Plasma Pistol, "both the Humans and those they are negotiating with. No one must escape. Payment after completion, right here."
There was no need to worry about this scum telling anyone about the faithful. They wouldn't live long, and their weapons, given by The Covenant, were equipped with beacons. There was nowhere to run, but they...
They don't know about it. A method perfected on humans, though they've learned to bypass it. This trash doesn't have that kind of experience.
"Understood," the mercenary nodded with satisfaction and left, leaving the Sangheili at the hangar hologram to watch what would happen next.
His brother and subordinate approached quietly. Another Sangheili in red armor, who had followed his commander here.
"Will they manage? This trash are not warriors," he remarked.
Thel 'Vadam gave a slight growl, expressing both agreement and his attitude toward the mercenaries.
"That is why we are here. To correct mistakes, to deal with cowards. The corruption of Humans will not spread."
The second nodded and, as he left, said with an irritated growl:
"I will prepare the warriors. I do not trust these cowards."
Thel 'Vadam himself remained to observe the events through the holograms as the operation commander. A ship flew into the hangar; a delegation of Asari stepped out. Blue witches—they were a problem. In an enclosed space, they were extremely dangerous.
It wouldn't be easy for the mercenaries; the blue witches were suspected of having ties to Humans, and the most foolish saw their ability to manipulate gravity as demonic sorcery, a desecration by Humans. Stupidity—those abilities came from a strange metal in their blood. But the origin of the skill did not negate the danger; the mercenaries might not succeed.
At that moment, the Humans arrived as well. Not on their own ship, which was unusual, but on a local one. The ship also entered the hangar, landing next to the Asari vessel on the opposite side. Once both ships were inside, the outer airlock closed with an armored shutter.
And then, Humans began to exit the ship. Bipedal Geth machines covered in gray armor. Robots on four thin legs. A Krogan with a strange weapon. And a Demon.
The Sangheili growled against his will, not hiding his anger. This changed everything. The heresy of Humans was great, but the Demons walking among them were heresy incarnate. The Demon was dangerous, extremely dangerous. Wait!
Looking closer at one of the delegates, Thel 'Vadam noticed long orange ears and a tail, and the Demon had three. The delegate looked like a human, but not quite, like the Asari. A different skull shape, at the very least, and different visible organs.
Hmm. So, the Humans had found a companion race and subjugated them? And had begun turning them into Demons! The roar of fury was so loud that his deputy came from the next room to see what the commander had seen. He too growled, and from the adjacent room, the warriors took up the roar. Expressing all his rage, the deputy said:
"A Demon. The scum certainly won't manage. We must intervene immediately!"
A few seconds of anger passed, and the commander regained his composure.
"Prepare the warriors. The Demon and the witches will simply tear them all apart."
The deputy left silently. The situation was becoming increasingly unpleasant. The Humans and Asari stopped opposite each other and began to speak. He could have listened, but he didn't need this heresy. No matter what the Humans said. No, Thel 'Vadam watched the Demon. It stopped at the right shoulder of the negotiator, and a one-tailed representative of the same species stood at the left. The soldiers and a pair of four-legged robots remained by the ship, as did the Krogan. On the Asari side, everything was mirrored: a squad by the ship, a negotiator, and two guards. And a table, standing exactly in the middle.
At that moment, the mercenaries attacked. Some moved to the second level, onto the catwalks; the rest flooded into the hangar from two sides. Thirty of them—the tactics they chose weren't bad. There weren't many covers in the hangar; they could create a good density of fire. But they chose not to use Plasma Grenades—greed is a bad thing. Against Demons, it was fatal. And the witches, especially experienced ones, were extremely dangerous in small spaces.
The negotiators reacted instantly. The diplomats rushed back to the ships, and the soldiers of both groups dove for cover. The only exceptions were the lead witch and the Demon. The witch glowed purple, and then the metal platform of the balcony glowed purple; after a few seconds, it collapsed downward with a crunch, blocking one of the entrances and crushing the mercenaries. A second before that, grenades from the Demon flew into the door.
The Demon, wielding a recognizable, desecrated pink Gravity Hammer, charged in and struck directly into the crowd rushing out of another door, scattering them into a mush of flesh and metal.
The other defenders weren't idle either. The witches fired and attacked with gravitational distortions. Random gravity vectors forced the mercenaries to slam into the ceiling and walls at high speeds, instantly snapping necks. The Krogan and the robots opened fire with blue beams from strange tubes. Two beams hit the second-level door. The balcony had collapsed, and the mercenaries were firing from the doorway, peeking out. In a second and a half, the two beams melted both the shooters and the section of the wall around them, turning metal and flesh into gas—and judging by the heat wave that caused the ceiling lights to shatter, into plasma. In place of the door, a white-hot hole a couple of meters in diameter remained.
The Krogan attacked those who survived the balcony collapse with short bursts, clearly roasting them in their own juices. Against the backdrop of these weapons, the Demon's every strike tearing through the trash, and the rampaging witches, the others looked small and insignificant. The Sangheili immediately contacted his squad.
"Belay that. Do not engage."
"But commander!" the deputy exclaimed in surprise.
"Their weapons. The witches and the Demon killed half the mercenaries in ten seconds—already three-quarters. We will act differently."
"Understood. Withdrawing," the deputy replied irritably.
He was a good warrior; he would watch the recording and understand.
Fifteen seconds—the mercenaries were finished; the seven survivors simply fled. Slightly less than half were killed by the witches almost without firing, just by a swift onslaught and the use of their gravity arsenal. The rest were taken by the Demon, and only three were shot by the soldiers. He zoomed in on the face of the negotiator, the oldest and clearly strongest witch.
"I have remembered you and your insult."
The squads of both sides, having ensured the enemies were gone, began to emerge from cover while some of their soldiers checked the surroundings. This should have been done earlier, but they had likely hoped for stealth.
Suddenly, the hangar shuddered. And again. What was happening? A switch of the display provided the answer: a ship. It was hovering opposite the hangar shutters, shelling them with weapons.
A decompression alarm wailed in the hangar. The negotiators started toward the ships, but when a hole the size of a fist was punched through the shutter with a roar, they immediately changed their minds and rushed into the tunnels of Omega. Hmm. That might work.
"Sel'Rankish. The mercenaries are shelling the hangar from the outside; the Humans and the others are pinned in the tunnels. Your squad has a chance."
Judging by the satisfied growl, the warriors appreciated the opportunity. Unfortunately, it wouldn't be possible to observe everything; the hangar had been prepared for the meeting and swept, and the receivers couldn't be hidden everywhere.
Meanwhile, the hangar airlock was blown outward, venting trash, debris, and the bodies of mercenaries. Not a single person among the Humans or Asari died. Shields, speed, and the power of the onslaught had done their job. Except for the plan with the ship—they should have broken the hangar first, then met the fugitives. Then there would have been a chance. But these were mercenaries from Omega; what did he expect?
The negotiators' ships remained, too heavy for the atmosphere to vent them. But the mercenary ship, a transport with a pair of makeshift cannons, shelled them as well. Stripped of shields and under the fire of rail slugs, they quickly turned into burning husks. There would be no survivors inside—good. The mercenaries had killed someone, for a change.
Only then did a passenger car slam into the mercenary ship, ramming it from below, then another, causing the transport to spin on its axis, and only then was it intercepted by the station's interceptors. They had taken so long.
***
Only when the pressure door closed behind our squad did it become clear: we had survived. The combat drones had to be abandoned; they were too conspicuous. But that didn't mean the drones were lost; thanks to their cutters, they simply bored into the floor, taking their own route deep into the station. The local scouts would pick them up later; let them use them.
The first use of the emitters proved excellent, suppressing the mercenaries along with their cover. I don't know what they were hoping for; there were fifteen units of clearly elite infantry here. And the Matriarch is just a death machine, breaking enemies through vector manipulation. Wrex can do the same but prefers firearms or close combat. Suslikov... well, he can do something. Though clearly not at that level.
And now, as we walk through the corridors of Omega toward the backup evacuation point, I am doing my favorite thing with the social module: mocking those around me.
"Oh, come on, let me lick it! I'm curious!" the one-tailed me whined, pointing at the hammer.
"No. It's sharp, the blood is dirty, and besides, you're not a warrior," the combat Avatar-me snorted.
To an outside observer, a clearly younger, one-tailed red fox-girl was begging an older warrior to let her lick blood off a Gravity Hammer. The Asari watched with great interest and listened; the Humans glanced over, though without facepalms. They didn't know.
And no, I didn't stop tracking the surroundings, as I was certain the enemy wasn't finished. Even if I didn't know who did this or why (though I had a guess—the mercenaries didn't have that many Plasma Pistols of a very characteristic model for no reason). Now I just had to figure out what The Covenant was doing here.
And this bickering was perfect for distracting the enemy.
"Hey! I killed my enemy!" the younger one tapped a pair of Magnums on her belt, decorated with carvings. "I might not be a warrior, but I have the right."
She tried to grab the hammer, only to be stopped by the combat Avatar's gauntlet, and began to puff indignantly, trying to break free. But she lacked the strength; I wasn't even playing along here—The Possessed is physically weaker than the combat platform.
"Could you please not get distracted," the diplomat sighed. "We aren't safe yet."
I smirked.
"My sharp eyes and keen hearing tell me we've been followed for a minute and a half already. The little one hears it too, by the way."
The door opposite began to open, and I took a step toward it, swinging the hammer. The little one drew a Magnum and fired a series of shots at a rushing Elite, while the "Krogan" aimed the emitter down the corridor, simultaneously releasing a stream of hydrogen beams with a hum.
"They're already here," I finished as the hammer, blinking with a shockwave, sent the Elite back through the door he had tried to leap from, now in the form of a tenderized mess in armor.
The soldiers, whom I had informed via the internal channel as soon as I detected the enemy, threw grenades exactly where they were told—into the corridor, into another door. Another soldier met an Elite with a shotgun blast.
A second later, the Asari joined in, sending a swordsman flying back with a "Throw" to where he had so beautifully jumped from. In general, they complemented our first strike with sorcery. If only I could train Suslikov to that level—it would be so useful. But the kid objectively isn't pulling it off yet.
The diplomat huddled, hiding behind a crate by the wall. The others quickly scattered to cover, dragging the man with them to shield him better. Fortunately, the place was abandoned, and containers and other junk were scattered everywhere.
"Where did The Covenant come from?" the man asked, stunned.
One of the marines answered:
"Based on what we were told about this station, you can find anything here."
The diplomat shuddered at the news.
"I didn't think it was that anything."
The Possessed, attacking two enemies akimbo with submachine guns, added:
"Well, why not? It perfectly justifies the title of the galaxy's backside. Though I wouldn't be surprised if there were Jackals here. Elites don't look right in a dump like this. But this is even better—cooler targets! I'm just like the warriors! Awwwwwwoooooooooooooooooo!"
She immediately ducked behind cover from return fire. Elites really didn't fit in these rusty corridors. And yet, here they were. It was also interesting that the mercenaries had also attacked with Covenant weapons. I had a question for the Matriarch.
"How widely has Covenant weaponry spread across the Citadel worlds? Obviously, the Elites gave it to the mercenaries, but still?"
The squad had to divert their attention to swordsmen flanking from the rear. The first didn't make it; under focused fire, the shield collapsed, and so did the swordsman. But it got worse: another Elite in red armor and two cloaked ones. I could aim by the shimmering air; it was harder for the Humans, even with the tactical interface in their helmets and my help.
The swordsmen successfully reached the infantry and hacked into them, destroying the Geth who tried to cover the Humans, then a soldier and an Asari. Benezia, the Asari Matriarch, turned, frowned, and glowed purple, slamming the red one into the invisible one and both of them against the wall. The invisible one became visible from the contact with his comrade's shield and the wall, screaming in pain; the red one's shield shattered from the two impacts. The Possessed finished off the now-visible one with a couple of shots, the red one was gunned down by the soldiers, and the Krogan finished the second cloaked one, saturating the area with a shotgun.
The Sangheili were finished. Benezia stood up and answered my combat Avatar.
"Such weapons are turned over in their entirety for study. If mercenaries have them, they are rare, individual pieces."
I flicked my tails and nodded.
"That's what I thought, but I had to be sure. We need to move, I believe. I don't know how many more enemies are ahead. But we are definitely not welcome," and pretending to think, I smeared my armored hand in the Elite's blood and then stamped a purple palm print on The Possessed's face. "You earned it."
It seemed someone was about to burst from cuteness as The Possessed puffed up with delight, clearly showing she didn't intend to wash her face for the next month. Benezia smiled.
"Sister?"
I thought for a moment and nodded.
"It's normal. Each of us has our role in this theater."
"Life is not a game," the diplomat protested.
To the questioning looks of the others, I quoted:
"All the world's a stage,
And all the men and women merely players;
They have their exits and their entrances,
And one man in his time plays many parts."
The diplomat asked, surprised, even shocked:
"You've read Shakespeare?"
"And you, I take it, are a fan of jokes about military intelligence?"
The diplomat sighed wearily but remained silent.
And it didn't matter to me that we were being overheard. All of this, including some of the disagreements, were simply provocations for both the enemies and those who clearly want to do business with us. The Asari, in the time before the attack, had indicated a desire for cooperation, primarily information exchange. Covenant worlds, possibly technology, medicine. For example, they were very interested in the industrial cultivation of one interesting algae that, according to them, grows on Earth.
I checked; it really does grow there. And it's used in medications, specifically in standard first-aid kits. But apparently, it's about the "Medi-gel" mentioned by our charges from the Normandy. Actually, the information itself spurred research and some improvement in the quality of the kits. Industrial sale of the product... sounds good; the corps will love it. Especially since they'll have a monopoly.
Besides, algae farms mean jobs, so we're working for the good of Humanity here. We just need to play it safe during the second round of negotiations. I think everyone is interested in success one way or another.
***
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