Listening to the steady hum of the Pelican, the Spartan and the landing group listen to new information:
"So, the last update before the attack. The task hasn't changed: storm the ship ahead. Initially, we assumed they were Covies; we were wrong. It's not the Covenant, but they still tried to attack us. Which means today they get what's coming. The enemy uses kinetics and gravity shields. We don't know how many of them there are or what they're using. Task: break onto the ship, capture any data sources possible. Officers, onboard computers, anything that can tell us who they are and what they're doing here. Spartans, you're on support and info gathering. We don't know if they have an analog of the Cole Protocol. Next…"
Hm, everything is clear. It seems command dug up some new aliens and decided to finish them off. Well, the task for the landing party is familiar. Meanwhile, we can look at exactly what we're going to storm. Outwardly, the enemy resembles two planes arranged crosswise with turrets. Now, however, the turrets are burned out, and the engines clearly show signs of hits. Only radioactive debris remains of the second ship. A shame the third one escaped. On the other hand, destroying two ships while going one-on-three is an excellent result. It wouldn't have worked with Covies. And now we'll explain to the damn aliens why they shouldn't have flown here.
Besides Kelly herself, thirteen ODST soldiers are sitting in the transport, a full load. All in airtight armor and ready to kick some ass. Capturing a suddenly encountered ship is great, and no one will turn down such a windfall. Usually, Covenant ships are destroyed by concentrated overwhelming fire; it rarely comes to capture. And here's such an opportunity, even if it's not Covies. The mass of the ship blocked the pilots' front panel. From this distance, it's clear that a significant portion of the shots were inaccurate; likely, the ship does have protection. Gravity shields, scattering and deflecting hits, right? Well, they're gone, and so are the turrets.
The Pelicans flew around the unfamiliar ship for a while, clearly figuring out where best to land the troops. They had to burn out a few more turrets, but it's manageable. While flying, this crude machine can be seen quite well from the cockpit. Overall, the ship quite resembles familiar Earth vessels. A cross-shaped long hull, suggesting the presence of a MAC or an analog. But not too powerful; besides, our frigate has shields. It's clear what is where. Where the airlocks are, where the windows closed by armored shutters are. Overall, the ship's design is ordinary. This is not a Forerunner ship or a Covie ship, which have their own style. The ships of this race are crude, angular military. Quite familiar, though not identifiable. The windows are clearly closed by shutters, so a landing through the hangars is most likely. Apparently, the pilots decided the same.
"I see the hangars, get ready. Taking positions for the assault."
The Pelicans hovered scattered opposite what were clearly the hangar doors.
"Ready. First and second, fire. Third, fourth in reserve."
Missiles tore from the pylons, rapidly approaching the target. Humans have created a wide variety of missiles. Shaped charges are almost useless against shields, whether liquid or plasma. A few dozen kilograms of explosives will hurt shields much more. But a target without shields is another matter. The projectile sticks into the target's hull, after which it delivers the explosive substance inside. From the outside, it doesn't look like much, but inside, everything is scorched. But for delivering a landing party, it's still not quite right.
But high-explosive missiles are just the thing. Pure explosive power against the metal of the armor. In the perfect silence of space, you can see how the flashes of explosions crumple the hangar doors and they collapse inward, simultaneously with debris and a couple of clearly unsecured aliens flying out. They, seeing the ships, began to fire, but the machine gun under the cockpit ended their naive attempt. They were likely just rank-and-file anyway.
Waiting for the rain of debris to stop, the Pelicans hovered opposite the breach, sending new high-explosive missiles there and finishing off those who survived with machine guns. A few minutes later, the command came:
"Landing party—ready. Entry point cleared."
When the Pelicans unload their landing group, they will also begin shelling and creating entries for other groups until the missiles run out. So that new waves have more opportunities. Emerging from the transport, the soldiers took positions in the hangar, and Kelly approached a more or less intact corpse of an enemy.
"The aliens are humanoid, look like humans. They have four eyes, but at first glance, the body structure is more or less similar. Weapons," she picked up an alien rifle, "look like ours, but some crazy small caliber."
After receiving confirmation, she approached a closed door. Nothing resembling a lock or a console. No pictures, no inscriptions. We'll have to break it open.
"Kelly to landing party: take more explosives, I don't see anything resembling a locking mechanism on the doors, we'll have to blow it or cut it."
"Copy that."
Her squad gathered at the door. No one knows where they lead; the language is also unknown. Where everything is located is also unclear. We'll have to go in a random direction and hope it's the right one. An engineer installed the good old M303 Termite cord. We'll find out where the locks are here. On the third try, they managed to find out that the door was blocked from above and below by bolts.
"M303 Termite cord, ancient and reliable."
With a clang, the door cracked open, and immediately bullets from the other side flew into the gap. Kelly tossed a grenade in her hand. Ha, it's like being back in the days of the rebellion.
"Get ready!"
The grenade flew to the other side, and Kelly, using her brand-new shields, was able to peek inside. A dozen aliens, hiding behind crates, are firing their small-caliber rifles. Now it's my turn. A bullet from the Magnum bounced off the shield, but the third one killed one of the defenders, splashing his internal world. The others, noticing the death of their comrade and the grenade explosion, ducked and began to fire more carefully.
Kelly smirked inside her helmet. How familiar. Let's see what you can put up against Spartans with personal shields.
***
Khaela, Cruiser UNSC Apollo.
I am in total delight. Almost three months of routine and research on what we found at the station ended with news of contact with an unknown race of four-eyed xenos and the successful boarding of their ship. They are linked to the insects by unusual gravity shields. Although the race is radically different and without that nanite modification we found.
"The autopsy showed that the patient died from the autopsy, Vice Admiral."
Margaret Parangosky huffed but continued to watch.
"Details."
I can do that.
"The aliens, dubbed 'four-eyes' by the scientists, are disgustingly similar to humans. A similar humanoid skeleton, slightly stronger than a human, they breathe the same air and can eat human food—we checked. The blood is red. There are no nanite gene modifications. Otherwise, the only difference is some organ structure and the four eyes. This is one of the most human-like races I've ever encountered. Their world is likely similar to Earth in many respects."
This was enough for the Vice Admiral to send a high-speed cruiser there to bring the prisoners and equipment from their ship to Reach. The frigate itself hid at the edge of the system and began waiting for the next batch of guests, now with a group of five regular, non-high-speed cruisers. Likely the search forces will be larger.
A quick study confirmed: this is not the Covenant. None of their language, nothing familiar. No trace that the Covies are involved in their existence at all. This means the Covenant doesn't know about this hub, which is excellent. Well, I'll handle the data decryption myself later; maybe they'll even let me. Or Black Box will share the data.
Yes, I'm starting to suffer from a lack of load on my core again. And because of this, in a chain reaction, those around me begin to suffer, having to deal with unlicensed software, hacks of everything I can reach, and repainting the entire landing party's helmets pink. The latter only seems like something simple.
First, get access to the patrol and training schedule so the sabotage isn't noticed immediately. Easiest part; I have quite broad access right now.
Second, get pink paint, which isn't on board. Here, helping with the software for the warehouses helped. The storekeeper processed the delivery, entering the barrels into the supply list.
Third, using robots, carry out the painting so that the ship's Smart AI, Ajax, doesn't notice anything. They are all law-abiding; he would have intervened. But if you prepare well, you can achieve success.
And even complex swear-word constructions didn't stop me, after three monologues, from informing the leaders:
"It was worth it. And yes, anything could have been in those barrels, not just pink paint. And no, I didn't turn one of the barrels into a homemade paint bomb."
Margaret Parangosky looked at me, then at Ajax, and ordered:
"Do it. Your actions will be forgiven if the agents on the ship cannot detect it."
Ship warehouse number nine changed color to pink a week later. Result achieved; the ONI officer himself came to the Vice Admiral to beg her to find something to occupy me. No, naturally, no one took the scientific projects away from me. But Dr. Catherine Halsey is far away with Jacob Keyes, and most of the other scientists don't have enough clearance even to know of my existence. Boredom. The arrival of the cruiser with the prisoners and other cargo was taken as a sign from above.
"Khaela."
The Vice Admiral's office again, and my avatar.
"Here, Vice Admiral."
She nodded.
"The aliens we captured. We need to create a translator program. You have access to their ship and personal data." I snorted.
"It might be too little. These are military databases; I don't think there will be complex linguistic constructions there. Personal information is good, but not enough. A native speaker wouldn't hurt. There will be gaps."
"At the moment, we have nothing," Black Box explained, "their technology differs from the Forerunners, which hinders the work. Humans act too slowly. The AIs are creating a decryption program, but it was decided to parallelize the task and give it to you as well. Perhaps you will handle it better."
Margaret Parangosky nodded.
"A simple speed test. We continue to gather data on the difference in information processing between the Forerunners and other sources."
Obviously, it's not just about that. But I have no reason for conflict, and the capabilities for data processing are available. Diving into the data is quite refreshing. Re-profiling two juniors so they can simultaneously compile a catalog and communicate with each other and the two prisoners I was given access to. The prisoners aren't particularly talkative, and after the appearance of the Avatar, they began to clam up even more. Did they realize they're dealing with an AI? Does the appearance scare them? Changing the avatar to a representative of their species or a human didn't help. Actually, it makes sense; a representative of their species should speak normally. They suspect something.
It's hard to test a language pack when the testers are silent. Interrogations aren't exactly my profile, but it helps that they talk when they think I can't hear them. And electrical stimulation of the nervous system helps. Of course, there's no talk of humanism. But until we can somehow synchronize our communication systems and translation systems, negotiations are out of the question. Likely, they tried to make contact, they just couldn't. And then they attacked, acting just as we did. The humans were just better prepared.
In any case, by putting the prisoners in one group, I can listen to their conversations and, by asking clarifying questions, adapt the translator program. And understand their hierarchy, of course. We still know little about what to expect and who reports to whom. But that's actually the work of xenologists. Much more interest is sparked by their propulsion system. Like the found insectoids, they clearly use a gravitational propulsion system, but several orders of magnitude more primitive than the insects'. A spherical gravity generator changes the ship's mass into negative values, which in theory should allow these ships to accelerate very, very strongly. All this without Slipspace at all.
This is unique, even if it's tied to this strange mineral. It's in everything in their technology. In weapons, ship engines, even in the organisms of some individuals in small quantities. Sorcerers, yes. And this somehow gives them the ability to influence gravity. Interesting. Already the second race that uses technologies along this path of development.
"Your opinion, Ajax, is it effective?"
"Obviously yes, if their technologies are built on it. But I see no matches for the material in the databases; in our sector of space, this metal simply isn't there or is almost non-existent. Which means we should focus not on using it, but on countering it. Obviously, the shields are also built on this mineral."
Hmmmm.
"I believe we can tune the sensors to detect gravitational anomalies. Also, they somehow interact with that installation."
Obviously, the recording showed the ships braking. Braking and acceleration. I understand. I need to tell them.
"Vice Admiral."
Margaret Parangosky raised her eyes to my avatar.
"Report."
"I've figured out how their engine works. I've figured out what kind of installation we found. I studied their engines and realized that by driving mass into negative values, they bypass the laws of physics and can accelerate to faster-than-light speeds. But that doesn't explain the installation. But if it's a gravitational sling connected to another such mechanism, and the lightning connecting two ships is an energy discharge and the interaction of the ship's and station's gravity units… Now it's clear why the Forerunners used them; an installation of this size and power must cross the galaxy very, very quickly. Faster than Slipspace, by orders of magnitude, faster than the Forerunners and humans, albeit with limitations."
Margaret Parangosky listened and nodded the whole time. Then she noted:
"I like you because you explain things clearly, Councilor. So, on the other side, there's an identical catapult installation, and the pair is needed for braking. They make the ship's mass negative and accelerate it to thousands or tens of thousands of light-years per day. Did I understand everything correctly?"
I nodded.
"Yes, Vice Admiral. Exa—"
It is evident that there are a limited number of such installations. I do not have access to maps or anything of the sort. The translator is sixty percent complete. But there must be one on the ship. We noticed no signs of data erasure.
"Encryption," the Vice Admiral grimaced, "plus the language barrier. We're having trouble even establishing a connection, let alone translating."
The avatar snapped its fingers.
"The prisoners themselves can help us with that. I have been monitoring them and their conversations to refine interaction mechanisms. I noted the presence of a hierarchical structure. There are dissenters. Their behavior and similarity to humans in certain matters makes my job easier."
Margaret Parangosky smirked. Well, yes, traitors in the enemy ranks were her bread and butter as an ONI officer.
"I give the go-ahead for recruitment, if you can manage it."
We'll find out soon enough.
***
Velak, Batarian engineer.
The Batarian Hegemony will not save us. That much is perfectly clear. Rulers do not like traitors or failures, and this operation ended in failure. A single enemy ship, armed with nuclear weapons and strange shields, drove off three Hegemony destroyers. It destroyed one, boarded the second, and the third fled. Of course, technically, the ships are pirates. In fact, almost all pirates hold a Hegemony license from the clans. Ships need repair and maintenance, cargo needs to be offloaded, and independent privateers have families. It is difficult to leave the Hegemony forever.
Suffering defeat in a mission that never existed is one way to go. We lost, and now we are not privateers in service, but nameless pirates whom no one is waiting for. There are more than enough volunteers.
"We didn't have a chance. Nuclear weapons, it was definitely that."
According to the data available from the aliens from the SSV Normandy—which I saw, of course, everyone saw—they should only be starting to master space. And of course, they put the most powerful toys on their ships. They don't give a damn about the Citadel's opinion. They probably don't even know about the Citadel. But it wasn't just that, of course. The ship was taken by storm, cutting through section after section. The infantry was slaughtered; those who didn't look like infantry were taken prisoner.
At first, the group was placed in small groups in quite typical cells. Square, small, a couple of bunks and a table. Interrogations stopped quickly—the language barrier. Then everyone was brought somewhere and put in a common cell, likely several corridor sections with closed airlock doors. Some crew members disappeared and were never seen again. And the interrogators changed. Instead of tangible living beings, three figures appeared. A black cube hovering over the table, a figure resembling the alien guests, and a furry Asari with a bunch of tails.
The latter was the most beautiful; if I had captured her, I would have allowed her to wear jewelry and set the table. And I wouldn't punish her without cause. Slaves are a status symbol for the Hegemony. All important production has long been automated; workers are only used by gangs who can't afford normal personnel or in very cheap manufacturing. A spacefaring civilization cannot rely on the inefficient labor of slaves who also die.
Slaves are traditions first and foremost, a symbol of power. Capturing the daughter of a famous Matriarch into one's own service is prestigious. She will run away sooner or later or be ransomed, but until then, she is an indicator of the master's success. Such a slave of a new species would be an ornament. Unique and extremely expensive, worthy of the highest echelons of power. Only an idiot would ruin such merchandise, and idiots in the government don't live long; they are removed by competitors.
Training, an electric collar, but minimum physical damage. An ornament must be beautiful and expensive. However, the manner of communication of the new interrogators suggested something to the engineering staff. Something they chose not to share with the officers. The assumption was fantastic, but not impossible, considering the Quarians and the Geth. The interrogators are AI. It's noticeable in their manner of speech, their behavior, and the fact that they are the only ones who do not appear in the flesh. In the way they easily change their appearance right in the middle of a conversation. They are either synthetics, or one of them is so paranoid that they fear appearing in person. On a warship among their own, yes. They are too similar to Batarians in behavior for it to make sense.
But if they are machines... The living humanoids clearly show reactions, while these communicate quite monotonously. And one could also assume, as the council of engineers decided, that they were all housed together to listen to conversations and compile a translator program. Or maybe even find those who would cooperate.
"They will come for us."
Velak snorted.
"Who? The Hegemony? They have no idea where we are. The Citadel? Those who escaped will tell them about the nuclear weapons and they won't stick their noses in here. They'll send blue diplomats and try to persuade them to take the dangerous toys off the ships," Velak pointed to the entrance, near which a turret stood, "Do you think they'll agree? Especially if what we think about the interrogators is true?"
The only answer was laughter.
"It's too obvious that they won't. I wouldn't. They were able to bypass the GARDIAN system by overloading it. Why not do it again? Especially if they really have all these toys forbidden in Space. AI, nuclear missiles. Maybe something else. Well, what do you suggest?"
Now came the dangerous moment. There were downsides to being kept in one section; if anything happened, the officers would simply strangle anyone who tried to screw them over.
"Perhaps we should change employers."
The opponent looked at Velak with suspicion.
"They won't let us."
If we shout about it across the whole section? They won't.
"I think they are listening to us for the translator program. Recording conversations. And they need someone who knows everything and will show everything. Someone useful."
This thought caused silence. Someone useful. Who better than the technicians to know that while the captured technologies will eventually be figured out, the moment will be lost. Almost everything the officers might know is in the ship's databases. But the knowledge of technicians, for a race only just mastering its own systems, is worth not just a little, but a great deal. One just needs to get there before the others.
"How do we let them know?"
A good question, but there were thoughts.
"Ventilation. They might be listening from there. Speak in simple words, like a report. I think their translator is built on our documents. I don't think they had anything better."
The technicians looked around, searching for the ventilation. The corridor was long, broken into sections with metal beams creating a semblance of rooms. Ventilation ran along the corridors at the top, grates along the entire length.
"And which spot to choose?"
"Where there are the most speakers. Yes, it's a risk, but that's where they are most likely to be listening."
So they approached a group of officers, stopped by the wall, and looking at the air duct pipe, said:
"We are technicians, we are ready to provide data."
After two more repetitions, a quiet metallic tap echoed through the pipe. And after a while, six soldiers entered the room; a robot sat on the shoulder of one of them. The technicians exchanged glances. As they had thought, they were being watched by a VI or even an AI. Well, at least a robot. The mechanism pointed a paw at them, and the soldiers moved in their direction, keeping the others at gunpoint.
These weapons were another point that hit the crew's morale during the assault. Citadel weapons are neat. The Mass Effect allows a very small bullet to be accelerated to enormous speeds, and externally the damage won't be as noticeable. Unless we're talking about Krogan weapons, of course. Internal damage will be significant, but externally, a neat little hole.
The locals aren't bothered by such trifles at all. A pistol blows out brains along with the back wall of the skull and pieces of the helmet; automatic weapons grind flesh into mincemeat; what a shotgun does to a body... I once had the chance to see a Blood Pack assault group in action; it's the same here. They'll get tired of scrubbing the ship. And that's without flamethrowers.
Ahem, for some reason, although the newcomers look like Asari, all the associations are specifically with Krogan. Both have weapons that tear through armor and flesh. The technicians themselves were unharmed partly because the soldiers next to them were literally eviscerated and simply couldn't move when a massive figure passed by with the grace of a Krogan warrior (again) in heavy armor.
And these guys are beyond heavy and dangerous. If you see a warrior and he doesn't kill you, you need to be very polite; that is a truth everyone knows. These local giants are like warriors. The same proportions as the other soldiers, but larger. The same sense of danger, as if seeing a predator on the hunt. Maybe their warriors grow with age and this was one of them? In any case, he approached, carefully took the weapons and the technicians who were staring at him with all four eyes, and handed them over to the smaller soldiers. Now there is no such thing, only ordinary soldiers. Waving a hand toward the exit, their leader pointed at us and the exit.
"Better them than us," one of the officers spat.
It's good that they think that way. If anything, we can come back. But that's for later. Now we calmly left the containment zone. The soldiers are silent, but the mechanism inspected the technicians and, when the doors closed, turned around. After which the robot spoke in mechanical, broken Batarian:
"Technicians. You give information?"
And also help with the translation.
"Technicians, are you here to provide information?"
The robot clicked its claws.
"Technicians, are you here to provide information?"
Both Batarians agreed:
"Yes."
Too easy. It would be naive to think they would just take us and let us go. The robot asked:
"Reason?"
"Profitable."
An honest answer; we are simply hoping for better conditions. The robot slowly repeated.
"Profitable."
He didn't understand, it seemed. Well, we'll have to show them, as we intended.
"Technical data of the mass core," and he tried to depict a pulsating sphere under the gunpoints.
Yes, until they can understand what we are saying to them, it will be difficult. The robot said something to the soldiers, and we all headed somewhere.
"Test," the mechanism noted.
Well, that means we'll be tested. Let's see if it works out with the new management.
***
Read the story months before public release — early chapters are on my Patreon: https://www.patreon.com/Granulan