High Charity Station, capital of the Covenant.
The Prophet of Truth, indulging his gaze with the view of the ship of the gods from his tower, pondered the situation. The white tower of the divine eleven-kilometer KeyShip is visible from any point of the upper dome of High Charity, as a symbol of the gods' wisdom. In reality, everything is a bit more complicated, but to inspire the population with divine wisdom, it's enough. And the situation itself is turning out to be interesting.
The new races are quite promising. Among the Covenant, there have already been those who appreciated their potential and values, which suit other races, meaning political blocs will form that will compete with each other for his, Truth's, attention, which is good.
Only the blue witches are very similar to Humans, but their power to manipulate gravity thanks to the metal in their blood is curious. And it can be used. One just needs to present this similarity correctly, but he is an experienced leader; he can handle such a simple task. The reproductive peculiarities of the blue witches and their compatibility with the races of the Covenant will help in this.
Turians are annoying; a few were captured, but in the end, one can say—another Sangheili, just as stubborn and thick-headed. Actually, the Sangheili Council was almost delighted, and they didn't even glass their world for the resistance. They wish to defeat them on the battlefield, showing the superiority of divine wisdom. This will happen. And yet, this battle is another retreat of the Covenant forces under the leadership of the Sangheili.
Military defeats are bad for them. The Heresy of Val'Azor, which appeared recently—their belief in the "Ancients from beyond"—has swept through two fleets and they are resisting. A loud enough incident that hit the Sangheili. Hit the entire Covenant, which is unacceptable.
They are too loud, too intrusive. And their heresy is contagious, meaning the issue must be resolved as quickly as possible. But this is only a symptom of a problem hitting unity, the machinations of heretics and demons. A lack of unity hinders everyone.
The defeats inflicted by Humans are too unpleasant and unexpected for those who do not look at the situation as a whole. Humans still suffer many times more losses, but their new ships with energy weapons are extremely dangerous, and we are talking about losses not of 1:3-5, but 1:2-3. This leads the Sangheili to confusion, for Humans are learning. Their forces are still categorically few, but that is for now. The Council may not handle it as easily as it claims, and they understand this. They deny it, but they understand.
And now the Sangheili suffer another defeat from a new race and demand revenge, to strike with all their might, especially against the backdrop of counterattacks on supply bases. A laudable ambition, but internal prob—
problems are more important now.
I even had to slightly hold back Tartarus, who in his stupidity almost exposed himself. No, let him deal with the heretic Val'Azor. This treachery from the humans must be resolved as quickly as possible; the Sangheili will settle it themselves.
The Huragok have already figured out what we are facing—a nanovirus. It enters the victim's blood and rewires the brain to worship an idea. And ideas can be quite dangerous, as the Prophet of Truth knows better than anyone. This epidemic must be dealt with before it is allowed to grow any further. There is only one Truth; all others are heresy.
As for the Turians, so be it, we will let the Sangheili deal with them, since they seem to like them so much. They will repair the fleet and return to the Turian capital. Moreover, they are already preparing several strikes on other worlds, including using forces from local acolytes. The Vorcha, whose world, Heshtok, has already been visited by Tartarus's subordinates. They assessed the newcomers as very promising expendable infantry.
Their home world has few resources and a large population, so the strong and large Jiralhanae managed to easily subjugate them and organize the mass export of them to other planets and into the military. They do not live long, but they accept the faith easily; that is enough for them.
Another slap in the face for the Sangheili, who failed to be the first to bring a new race into the halls of High Charity in this conflict.
The Krogan, practically exterminated but promising. All they need is a cure. The Kig-Yar were ordered to look into this. A thousand warriors a year from a single pair. It sounds too good to pass up. We simply need to prepare not only the cure but also a poison in case of their rebellion.
The Hanar, peaceful preachers. Or perhaps not so peaceful; time will tell how they accept divine wisdom.
In any case, they are all destined to become part of The Covenant, no matter how much they resist. The wisdom of the gods is incredible; The Great Journey is coming!
***
Tartarus, the Chieftain of the Jiralhanae, burst onto the bridge of the heretic ship with four warriors. All four warriors were in full armor with plasma shields. A necessary measure to protect against the virus spreading heresy. Usually, among the Jiralhanae, a warrior must earn his armor, and warriors go into battle to earn the right to rise higher, but the Prophet's order is quite delicate, and to avoid destroying the assault troops, he has to act personally and with the use of elite squads. No matter, the newcomers will have more than one chance to prove themselves.
The ship's commander, a Sangheili in white armor, turned around. The once pure white officer's armor now bore the marks of corruption, heretical drawings. A black rhombus divided into four parts; the lower edges had three stylized legs each, and in the center was a red dot. The result was a creature with little legs. On the plates were longitudinal blue-black stripes with heretical signs. The officer growled, activated an Energy Sword, and rushed into the attack. Unggoy and Elites among the crew abandoned their terminals and rushed for cover.
Tartarus took a step forward, raising his Gravity Hammer. He was not afraid; a Chieftain is not supposed to be afraid. And also because his personal plasma shield, a gift from the gods, was capable of withstanding a direct hit from a tank—even two, if they weren't direct. And a single strike from a blade wouldn't even scratch him. And so it happened; allowing himself to be hit, Tartarus grabbed the Sangheili by the neck and snapped it with a crunch. Then, looking at the shuddering heretics, he tossed the body of their commander aside with a light movement. At this, the Unggoy shrieked, spreading panic. Trash.
The warriors fanned out; the grenadiers began exterminating the Unggoy, while the shooters engaged in a firefight with the Elites. But heavy armor and shields were on the side of the Jiralhanae. Not a single one was seriously wounded, proving their skills.
The last Sangheili, in gold armor, jumped down from the upper tier, looked at his fallen comrades, and grumbled. Not a coward, which was good. But his armor, too, was covered in symbols of heresy, which meant he would not be leaving this place.
"The Prophets sent you, Tartarus. Cowards hiding behind the backs of warriors from the wrath of the gods. They are mistaken; you will accept the wisdom of the ancient one, one way or another. The pathetic false prophets will fall! The wisdom of the ancient one is eternal!" He roared what was clearly a slogan, but there was no one left to support the Sangheili; everyone was dead.
The warriors behind Tartarus growled, and he joined them.
"I will rip off your filthy head, you nonentity. You betrayed the Prophets and dare to insult them! You betrayed The Great Journey! And today I, Tartarus, am your executioner!"
The Elite laughed.
"Fool. I hear a god. He desires your death. Now die!"
With a growl, the Sangheili rushed into the attack. Letting the enemy get closer, they exchanged blows. And while the Sangheili's blade simply slid off the shield, the hammer literally crushed the warrior, throwing him into the far part of the bridge like a broken doll. Tartarus walked over and crushed the enemy's head with a finishing blow.
"The ship is cleared, Chieftain," a subordinate reported.
Tartarus nodded.
"Excellent. Direct it into the star. The disease of heresy, as the prophet ordered, must not spread. Take nothing, no trophies. Everything is still contaminated."
"Yes, Chieftain, we remember."
A holoprojector flickered to life.
"Lower life forms. Your attempts are futile. Resistance is useless. To resist this is a futility worthy of organics."
Tartarus turned, as did the warriors. A huge red hologram of a creature appeared in the middle of the bridge. It looked very much like the heretics' emblem, clearly a mechanism or the power armor of an insectoid, with an elongated vertical body and legs positioned along it. The Chieftain looked at the warriors, who were staring warily at the creature, and bared his teeth.
"So you are their god? Not impressive."
"Your arrogance is irrelevant. The cycle will continue. Resistance is irrelevant."
Tartarus bared his teeth.
"Just words. Hiding behind pictures, afraid to fight face to face? Our gods are stronger; they gave us weapons. They gave us a purpose. Come, I, Tartarus, will show you! Name yourself so I know whom I kill, false god!"
The warriors behind him growled in rage, making him smirk. They all understood exactly what was needed. But the indifference in the hologram's voice was somewhat irritating. As if it weren't interested at all.
"Your provocation is irrelevant. Just another insignificant unit."
An alarm went off on one of the consoles. A warrior ran to it.
"The ship's reactor has begun building up energy! There will be an explosion!"
No time to be angry; they had to run!
"Abandon ship! Immediately!"
The hologram of the creature vanished as the Jiralhanae ran out of the room. Tartarus, meanwhile, thought about the urgent need to report this to the Prophet. Truth must know that the heretics have not only turned away from him but have also acquired an extremely arrogant little god. Whose head needs to be crushed.
***
Citadel.
The Council understood less and less what was actually happening as time went on. The Asari Councilor looked questioningly at her deputy, who was sitting across from her in the Republic embassy office.
A typical embassy office overlooking the Presidium, with a balcony and an isolator that blocked both sound and blurred the image. Protection in case of eavesdropping or assassination attempts.
"The Geth... have established a blockade on Erinle," the Asari said slowly, "why?"
"No information, Councilor," the subordinate spread her hands, "we learned about the attack itself quickly; we have agents there. But only the Geth know the Geth's motives. They dragged an armada with a dozen dreadnoughts and fifty cruisers across half the galaxy, burned out the planetary defenses and spaceports, and that's it. No one can get to the planet or leave it; otherwise, the Geth are doing nothing. At all. No one understands anything."
Even stranger. Erinle was a technological dump with a dying biosphere fouled by the waste of numerous hazardous industries. Literally everything of value on the planet was the factories. But the Geth did not attack them, did not capture them, did not bombard them. The Geth were simply there, blocking logistics, and as soon as they left, production would continue. One should be happy that the damage was small, but the situation was so strange that everyone was looking for a catch. It just doesn't happen like that! Even with the strange logic of synthetics, it doesn't happen! Probably! It's still strange! But outwardly, the Councilor knew how to keep a straight face and only said demandingly:
"A conversation with the other Councilors awaits me. The Dalatresses will surely demand assistance in breaking the blockade of Erinle, and I need to know as much as possible."
Unfortunately, the Matriarchs had not yet made contact to convey their will. Discussions among them always take some time if there is no initial consensus on a decision. It remained to stall for time, limiting herself to general phrases until the Council of Matriarchs agreed on what policy to pursue. Which meant information was needed to know what to start from. The deputy, an experienced Matron, nodded understandingly.
"I don't think the Salarians themselves will have significantly more information. The structure of Geth society and their interests are known to no one at all. But if arguments against an immediate reaction are needed, hm... Here. An objective fact: the Geth are not destroying the planet's infrastructure, not exterminating the population. It is unwise to test the Geth's intentions with our own hands."
A fact. Who knows what these machines will decide if a full-scale war is started with them, and we need to keep our troops free in the confrontation with The Covenant.
"What if we turn to the Quarians? Perhaps they know more?"
The deputy shook her head.
"They are unhappy that no investigation was conducted into the disappearances of their pilgrims. We recommended they check corporate worlds and the Terminus Systems. I don't think they will answer."
But it was reasonable. The Migrant Fleet was by no means a paradise; there were enough Quarians voluntarily going for life contracts on Illium, for example; trained engineers were always needed. If a specialist was good, they would be provided with all the conditions for life.
"Did they have evidence to the contrary?" the Councilor clarified boredly.
Her deputy spread her hands.
"No, everything is legal and justified. There were no grounds for an investigation; there is no evidence that the pilgrims are specifically disappearing rather than simply not wishing to return to a effectively isolated fleet. But this did not convince the Quarian representatives, and they will not help us. If they even know anything about it themselves."
Bad, though expected.
"Reasonable. But even so, the question remains: what do the Geth want. I don't believe they flew there just out of boredom," the Councilor responded to her subordinate's smile with her own, "perhaps they didn't want spaceships flying there? Well, they destroyed the spaceports for some reason."
"No one knows," the second Asari replied, "I don't think the Salarians will say either, even if they know. It's their world and their secrets, after all."
Indeed, for them, the primary issue would be lifting the blockade. However, we are not obliged to rush into battle immediately, and the Hierarchy's forces are bled dry and recovering, too much so to rush to break a blockade at the Dalatresses' request. We must watch, watch. The Councilor and her deputy stood up.
"I'm going to a meeting now; we'll see what the Salarian Councilor says. But I need as much information as possible about what happened. The Matriarchs will demand more information, and it is in our interest to give it to them. The Salarian Councilor will distort the data in his favor; we need to understand where we were lied to."
"The Turians are of no help here," the subordinate agreed, "I will do what I can, Councilor. But I will need some resources."
The other nodded understandingly.
"Do it. We cannot afford to be wrong. We should act carefully but be ready to react if necessary."
***
Migrant Fleet.
Another meeting of the admirals ended in nothing. The intensive development of the Geth and their equipment meant that Quarian expeditions found themselves in a poor position. They were simply slaughtered.
As long as the Geth were relatively passive and did not use more complex and powerful equipment, a combination of technical skills and bullets allowed them to be cleared out fairly quickly.
Unlike the Morning War, the Quarians had prepared and were ready. This worked for two centuries. And then, unexpectedly for everyone, the Geth began using isolated armor capable of withstanding one or two direct hits from tech powers, more powerful weapons, and in the last battle, a Geth ship demonstrated a MAC of ENORMOUS CALIBER.
Which blew away a Quarian warship from the Heavy Fleet with a single hit, like a bullet hitting a tank of explosives. As a result, discontent and a bit of panic began to brew among the Quarians. As well as among the admirals, who were dissatisfied with the actions of the combat and science fleets. Ideas arose to ignore the Citadel Council, which has enough problems of its own, and retreat further away. Because survival is more important than victory.
Which was expressed in very heated arguments.
"This operation was useless from the start! We knew the Geth had settled in this asteroid belt!" the admiral of the Civilian Fleet protested.
The admiral of the Combat Fleet countered:
"We had to check for the presence of combat stations."
"Combat stations?" the admiral of the Patrol Fleet asked in surprise, "but why? That's inefficient."
The problem with building combat stations is that they are irrational. For a station to be able to trade fire with dreadnoughts, it must itself be the size of a dreadnought. At the same time, a station is immobile, which means it is relatively easy to aim at even at extreme distances. And if a station is mobile, then it is already a ship (the size of a dreadnought) with the corresponding maintenance costs. As a result, in the reality of ultra-long-range fire from railguns, stations are more dangerous for the crew than for the enemy.
Attack range in space makes sense simply because the enemy will maneuver in three dimensions.
At a speed of 6,000 km/s, a dreadnought's slug will travel to the enemy in 14-15 seconds at the limit of the targeting range. If the slug flies longer, the enemy may have time to shift, which greatly affects accuracy. This is why, by the way, dreadnoughts are ineffective against ships smaller than a cruiser; those are too mobile for them. However, stations, unlike a ship, are immobile, which means you can bomb them with slugs at a distance much greater than usual, while you can quickly dodge return fire and your enemy on the station cannot. That's why they aren't used, preferring ships. The fact that the Geth have started building combat stations is strange. Do the Geth know something the Quarians don't?
The admiral of the Heavy Fleet nodded.
"That's what we thought. And here is what we found. Look, and you will understand everything."
The recording showed a small transport ship moving along the asteroid belt. The recording was from another ship positioned further away. For a while, nothing happened, and then the first ship simply shattered into small pieces. Without internal detonations, just in one movement.
The admirals shuddered, as there was at least a pilot inside. Perhaps a robot, but still, the ease of the scout's destruction was frightening.
"What was that, anyway?"
The admiral zoomed in on a part of the image where something was positioned among the asteroids. Elongated vertically, with four smaller beams horizontally and a thickening in the center. And now the station was looking toward the ships specifically with the small "beams."
"Railguns of different calibers," the admiral of the science fleet concluded.
"Which destroyed the second scout as well," the admiral of the combat fleet agreed, "the station has a small profile and is mobile enough to turn in the right direction very quickly. Moreover, the nature of the destruction suggests the ship was blown up by a non-standard munition."
"So that's what it was!" the admiral of the science fleet exclaimed, "your sample. The Geth turned a railgun round into a container of needles, resulting in a ship-caliber shotgun equivalent."
Everyone fell silent, realizing what was happening. Kinetic shields might not help against such a hit; they simply wouldn't be able to intercept all the projectiles simultaneously.
"But you aren't going to send new scout teams, are you?" the admiral of the civilian fleet clarified.
"I am," the admiral of the Heavy Fleet countered, glancing at the admiral of the Patrol Fleet and receiving his nod, "if we intend to return to Rannoch one day, we must know what the Geth can use against us."
"And we should also find out what provoked the Geth into activity."
"Activity?" the admiral of the Civilian Fleet clarified.
"According to our data, a massive Geth fleet attacked the Salarian colony of Erinle. The planet is under blockade; the Geth shoot down everything that comes out of the Mass Relay or takes off from the planet. At the same time, no non-standard equipment was noticed among the attacking fleet. But in the Perseus Veil, it was. And that is another mystery our military must and will solve."
The admiral of the Civilian Fleet pressed her palm to her helmet visor and shook her head.
"The population is dissatisfied. Lately, we have been suffering too many noticeable losses. Too many are not returning from Pilgrimage. Your wasteful actions are leading to discontent."
The admiral of the science fleet immediately asked:
"So the Council ignored the request?"
The only female admiral nodded.
"Ignored it. They made it clear in plain text that it's not their problem. And we are expecting negative population growth in the dynamics. Fewer returnees means fewer new families. Or families created, for example, on Illium. Not with us, where the risk of not returning is high. And don't tell me about statistics; I didn't say anything like that."
"What, excuse me?" the admiral of the Patrol Fleet asked in surprise, "there is a Quarian community on Illium? What about the bans imposed by the Council?"
The admiral of the civilian fleet nodded.
"Created jointly by three corporations of the Illium Transport Guild and the Serrice Council. My investigators infiltrated it; it's literally a multi-story building converted to our usual living conditions. Sterilizers, purification and sealing systems, compartments resembling ship ones. You get a job in the corporate block and get your own piece of the Fleet, comfortable living conditions, and a job. In the Council Races worlds, not with us. And that's not the only such place, as far as I know."
"Arrogant," the head of the Patrol Fleet literally spat the word, "they lock us up, deprive us of colonies, and effectively take away our specialists themselves!"
"It's even worse," the head of the science fleet reported sadly, "technically, Illium is a corporate world; they only hire Quarians and provide them with comfortable living conditions. Everything is voluntary; moreover, their governments won't understand why we are unhappy with the improvement of living conditions for Quarians. We will simply be accused of contributing to the impoverishment of the population."
"Or they'll pretend not to understand," the head of the civilian fleet agreed, "in any case, with these disappearances, such a policy is bad for replenishing the fleet with those returning from Pilgrimage. And it creates many questions for us."
"We'll solve it," the head of the heavy fleet waved it off, "we have no other choice; we'll solve it. By the way, colleague, what about the weapon samples that arrived from Oma Ker?"
They had managed to take many samples of weapons and light equipment from Oma Ker. Importantly, plasma-based ones, which meant they were effective against synthetics. So the science fleet had actively taken up the study of the novelties with the full approval of the others.
"It's hard to say for now. To give you an idea, these are technologies based on completely different principles. I'm not sure reverse engineering is even possible."
"But?" the admiral of the Heavy Fleet perked up.
"But we can try to create analogs based on Mass Effect. A directed gravitational field will allow us to work with plasma without burning out the equipment. In fact, that's exactly what my specialists are busy with. The first prototypes will be of a large caliber, simply because miniaturizing the device will be difficult. Don't count on infantry weapons. Ships, vehicles, perhaps."
The admirals of the combat fleets were clearly pleased. Well, yes, the massive samples would go to them.
"Don't get carried away. We still have problems with high losses and the disappearances of Quarians."
"Working with the population is your task," the head of the Heavy Fleet stated firmly, "If there is anything in our department, let us know. We will solve the problem."
The argument flared up with renewed vigor. Encouraged by the news of plasma weapons, the combat admirals insisted on increasing army funding and more active operations. To them, this seemed much more promising than arguing with the Citadel.
***
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