Garrus Vakarian, four hours later.
The ship is about eighty percent ours. Nearly five thousand Turians, some of whom were simply being held in empty rooms and hangars, are free, armed, and dangerous. The remnants of the enemy are huddling in technical spaces in terror, holding the line as best they can. Our progress has slowed, but we've pushed them away from all the vital points, it seems.
It looks like they gathered almost all of our people onto two ships and were taking them somewhere. Because of that, the ship was blatantly overloaded and looked more like the barracks of Omega than a combat spacecraft.
The result was predictable: when you have two or three times more prisoners of war than guards—unarmed, but with the technical skills of omni-tools—a riot is inevitable. Yes, a fifth of the five thousand perished, including those who charged head-on without weapons; there are many wounded, but we know how to fight just as well, and there are more of us. Once we gained access to weapons and gear, the fight became entirely equal. That's how we won.
Now for the next most important question: how to pilot the ship. Half the walls here are covered in holographic terminals with inscriptions, bars, diagrams, and icons. We're having to use explosives as a universal key, but we're managing.
We've more or less learned how to control the opening of cells and some doors, but that's about it. We don't know the language, the consoles are unfamiliar, and we have no idea what means what. The ship is still flying wherever it was headed. Likely to a place where there are even more of these lizards.
By the way, we found Turians in the cold storage alongside the humans. Butchered. So there's no reason to pity them. It seems we really were intended as snacks.
"If we don't come up with something, all that's left is to take the fight to them on this ship," I snorted, standing in the corner of the bridge. I am the Captain's advisor, after all.
"If we can figure out how to turn on the weapons," Vetra Nyx noted, approaching me. "Otherwise, they'll just blow us up."
She, like me, had participated in the clearing operations.
Overall, comparisons between the Turian Hierarchy forces and the lizards in ground combat show parity. Their weapons pierce our armor, and their hand-held shields hold up well against kinetic weaponry. So if you expose yourself, it's going to hurt. We don't have proper protection. But the feeling is mutual.
Their armor lacks kinetic barriers, the armor quality is comparable, and no regeneration has been observed. They die just as quickly.
On the other hand, they aren't particularly strong physically, and shooting at their shields easily knocks off their aim. Their variety of classes is much lower than ours. That's what allows us to crack their defenses. Infiltrators under cloaking, biotics, shock troopers. Combined, this allows us to push through their defenses, room by room. The demolitionists have gotten good at blowing doors, and things have improved even further.
The main thing is not to remember the ease with which their ships suppressed us. Better shields, better weapons. In infantry combat, we took them apart due to our greater variety of capabilities, but in ship-to-ship combat, everything is much worse. How do the humans even deal with this? Right.
"Humans!"
The nearby Turians turned at those words.
"What, Vakarian?"
"Well, it's simple—humans! There were several on this ship. A couple of cells. We haven't released them yet, but still. They are combat officers; they must have more information. We need to question them."
"Yes, I was thinking that the humans are clearly familiar with these lizards. Unless we learn some other way, of course."
The others present on the bridge fell into thought. The Captain spoke up.
"I've thought about that and even spoke with them. Humans are unreliable. If they get control of the ship, won't this just be a journey from one captivity to another?"
Good question. It's not even a given that the Systems Alliance would unequivocally help in such a situation. And this isn't the Alliance. Plus, this ship is complex. Energy weapons—by its size, it's either a large cruiser or even a dreadnought. Just hand it over to the Hierarchy? A state you have a military conflict with? That's not even funny.
So the Captain is right; we can't trust the humans. But...
"But we don't have any other options. Either we quickly find a manual, or this is it. Or we can wait until we arrive at these lizards' home. Captain, I would like to speak with the humans."
They looked at me suspiciously.
"The goal, Vakarian? What are you hoping for?" one of the officers demanded. "We've already gotten information from them."
I need to negotiate.
"I want to hear what they know."
The others were unimpressed.
"Read this; they told us a few things. Things that are relatively trustworthy and can be verified somehow."
The Captain turned away, handing over a datapad. It's a good thing these lizards hauled some of our tech along; otherwise, it would have been dire. In some places, they've carved signs directly into the walls with bullets or blades just to navigate.
So, what do we have here? The Covenant Empire. Forces. Acceptable losses of 4-to-1? That's painful. Main fleets of about five hundred ships? Our group was scattered by three large ones with escorts. That's painful. They will come once they find our maps? And that's why all navigational data had to be erased.
That's a problem.
"Captain, what about the second ship? Our prisoners were loaded onto two ships. If it reaches their world, Palaven will be in danger!"
The Captain nodded.
"I know about that too, Vakarian. And I've given orders. We don't know the coordinates of home and we can't trust the humans. We must ensure that information about Palaven does not fall to the enemy." He then turned to the others. "Everyone is ordered to erase data from datapads and omni-tools for that very reason. From tech, from any equipment. Computers that are damaged, I've ordered destroyed. These blue spheres explode with plasma; use them. Vakarian, fine, go ask the humans about using the weapons."
Well, that's not the worst possible option. Another suicide mission.
"Yes, sir!" I left the bridge while the Captain continued giving orders.
I don't know how much longer we're in transit; we must be prepared. This ship has weapons. If we can use them... Well, the second ship must be found and destroyed. We will likely exit from wherever we are flying in the same formation. By that moment, we must be ready for battle.
The humans were found in one of the brigs; no one intended to release them, and the guards were already Turians. Judging by the humans' uniforms, they were officers. The design is unusual for the Alliance, but the uniform is quite recognizable. Humans love those hats of theirs, round on top. And the suits don't look like combat armor.
They were sitting in two cells, bored, looking in my direction. It seemed the corner of the cell was being used as a latrine. The amenities in the cell were the same as what we had—not even anything resembling bunks, just an empty square room closed off by a barrier. Interestingly, they were the only human prisoners. It seems they took almost no prisoners among them.
As I approached, the officers stood up. Thank goodness for the translation program.
"So, what else do you need? Not enough information? Or do you need help?"
They held themselves well, strong.
"I need you to teach us how to operate the ship's weapons. So yes, help."
That seemed to interest them. They gathered at the barrier, listening.
"And why would we do that? From inside this cage?"
Now let's see if I learned John's lessons in eloquence correctly.
"For example, because the ship is still on its original course. We don't know how to pilot it. Very soon, we will become a large and helpless target in the middle of a massive pile of lizards and everyone else in the Covenant. And it would be nice if we could take down as many as possible before they just slaughter us without any resistance. You can teach us how to shoot back, and I will personally persuade the Captain to give you weapons so you can kill your share of these guys. A chance to die in the same line, taking out as many lizards and whoever else is there as possible. Or you can stay in this cell; it's not my call. Your choice?"
Come on, come on, believe me! The humans looked at each other and began to whisper. Then their leader, an elderly officer, nodded:
"That's a good deal. What's your plan?"
I nodded. It worked. But it was risky; I wasn't sure it would.
"The first target is the second ship flying with this one. It also has Turians and our gear. But it hasn't been cleared. If they haven't staged a riot like we did, it will have to be destroyed. And then, depending on the situation, we try to escape or inflict maximum damage. Whatever happens. I'll inform the Captain. Preparations are already underway."
And it'll be more fun with the big guns.
***
We were dropped back into real space a week later.
All this time, we trained intensely, memorizing the humans' lectures, while they learned to shoot our weapons.
The humans told us about our enemies, their strengths and weaknesses. Jiralhanae, Sangheili, Unggoy, Kig-Yar, Mgalekgolo, Yanme'e. Where to shoot, what to expect. What their ships can do and how to hit them so they explode. Their temperaments, tactics.
For the first few days, everyone watched each other warily, but gradually, after a few dozen sparring sessions, cooperation smoothed out. We didn't ask the humans about their world, and they didn't ask us about Palaven, but they did tell us about the Covenant.
We didn't become friends, but we were ready enough to cooperate in the face of a common danger. I don't think we could have achieved anything better in such a situation.
Among the Hierarchy prisoners, they also found several technicians; these were learning to pilot dropships and other vehicles on the consoles in an accelerated manner.
Only, we couldn't try it out right in the hangar while in transit. Except for flying the Banshees a bit—small, single-seat atmospheric craft. Small enough to fly inside the hangar. But even for them, it was blatantly cramped; if those machines didn't handle low-speed collisions well, we would have wrecked them.
Covenant technology is universal enough that different species can operate their weapons. Not very comfortable, but possible. Turian hands are too narrow.
There's also ground tech, but there's almost nowhere to drive it in the depths of the ships; we just flew them back and forth a bit. And it's unclear if we'll even be able to deploy them. But we tried controlling them just in case. The hammer-like Ghosts and a plasma tank that fires in an arc. That was all the tech in the ship's holds. Plus turrets, of course. Not much, but it's not in our interest to complain. The turrets were placed at key points and in the hangars to defend against boarding parties when it starts. We decided not to use the tanks—too powerful and too little space.
Another good thing is that Covenant weapons, like ours, can fire many shots. And, like ours, they are limited only by overheating and energy reserves. Though they are more powerful, there's no denying that.
In addition to the Widow, I took a couple of lizard sniper rifles on my back just in case. Powerful, though they drain fairly quickly. And even the humans don't know how to recharge them. Plus an assault rifle. It's heavy, but we have no idea if there will be a chance to get more weapons, so everyone is loading up as much as they can. Grenades—the blue plasma spheres—are scarce. But we found a couple for each Turian shock trooper.
The humans armed themselves too. One of their officers, looking at my grumbling about the amount of weapons, joked:
"That's the hamster waking up in you. No one is able to give enough to that insatiable beast." He immediately caught himself. "A hamster is..."
I tried to smirk, which made the human flinch. I'll have to use my voice; my smile unnerves them.
"I know what kind of beast that is. Our Captain had one. Small and very resilient. It escaped regularly but managed not to die among the cables."
The man laughed.
"Rodents are like that. Small, resilient. A hamster can also devour a whole bunch of things. Though on a ship, trying to eat cables..."
And so it happened that we gradually began to communicate with the humans. This isn't a problem for me; I spent a lot of time on the SSV Normandy. But for the others, it was unexpected and unusual. If we weren't heading into an attack, this would be a great moment. So many Turians getting experience communicating with human colleagues. But the Captain is right: we don't know the coordinates of our worlds, and we also need to make sure the second ship doesn't deliver information to the enemy. It must be destroyed.
The commanders can say whatever they want, but the fact is, the second ship will be blown to pieces. For certainty.
Also, the food supply is limited. The lizards only hauled enough for two weeks of rations. At least humans can eat the same things as the lizards and don't need much. Hunger is the last thing we need here.
A week later, we essentially had a Hierarchy combat ship. We still don't know what much of the onboard equipment does. Но minimal actions can be performed by us and the humans. And we can shoot "in that general direction." I wouldn't risk trying to calibrate those guns, though.
And here it is, the moment of truth. We are as ready as we could possibly be. And we are approaching our destination. A voice from the ceiling announced:
"Almost there. The automation will pull us out of slipspace in three minutes."
We are at our positions. I'm in the hangar; there's more space for a sniper here. I glanced at the other Turians behind a barricade of containers. Final check, full readiness.
We've dug in quite well in these hangars. I and a few other Turians on a couple of turrets took the upper tier; we hauled strange containers (round with rectangular struts) to use as cover and sat behind them. On the second tier, there are more turrets, shock troopers, and technicians. Below is a cleared space so we don't have to fire vertically upward.
If anyone lands there, the suppression group will deal with them. Но for the most part, the lower tier is cleared to the maximum to deny the enemy cover. We will attack from the heights.
The intercom crackled:
"Exiting slipspace in five, four, three, two, one, ready!"
A flash, and behind the blue screen of the shield appeared... Is that a ship??? A station? Why does it look like half a moon impaled on a spike? And just how big is that thing?
"Are you seeing this too?"
"Yes. It's massive..."
We all stared through the blue force field, examining the space on the other side. This is definitely an artificial structure! Against its backdrop, the dots or sticks are ships. It must be enormous, even bigger than the Citadel! If it really is a piece of a moon. Dozens, if not hundreds of kilometers!
"Yes... It's huge. And those ships, how many are there? And what size are they?"
Our ship came out at an angle, and ahead, though not directly in front but slightly to the side, a planet is visible. A huge planet—judging by the lights, there's a city on it. A residential world with a megalopolis, like many we've seen. But that's not the main thing.
Hanging next to the planet is THAT. A massive station, somewhat reminiscent of Omega. Except against the backdrop of this station, small matchsticks of ships are visible. And something tells me those aren't frigates. Which means this thing must be several times larger than the Citadel and certainly Omega.
By design, the station looks more like Omega. A piece of a planetoid carved out from the inside, with a long spike of docks and various constructions sticking out. But Omega is built around an asteroid, even if it's a large one. This thing is clearly built around half of a small moon. That "mushroom" cap is very distinctive. Enormous.
"Incredible... Who could have even built such a thing? This is bigger than anything the Protheans built, right?" a young Turian standing nearby uttered, stunned.
I tried to get a closer look at the thing through my scope when the ship shuddered.
"Looks like we've started the fight."
I realized then. We aren't getting out. No way. Not against such an armada waiting ahead. And they surely see us already; they just need time to start the attack. If we turned around and left right now, there might be a chance. But there, judging by what I see in the scope, are hundreds of ships. Enormous ships. And smaller dots are detaching from them. One thing is clear.
"They must not reach Palaven," I said quietly.
Clicks rang out. The Turians around me gripped their weapons in tension. The ship shuddered a few more times, and then there was a palpable jolt.
"The second ship is destroyed; they didn't resist. We are alone. Attempting to retreat. The fleet ahead is firing. Attempting to turn around."
And at that moment, a purple dot streaked through the blue of space. Then another, and another. I tried to see more through the scope, but it was clear enough: we were indeed being attacked.
The first hits made the ship shudder but seemed to dissipate against the shields. They differ from ours here. If Citadel ships' shields activate at the point of impact, here it's just a dome around the hull. I'm no technician, but even I can tell how much energy that thing consumes. And how powerful the shots must be.
"What do you think is next, Vakarian?"
I turned to a Turian trying to watch the space battle through the hangar window. There wasn't much to see behind the shield flashes, but they were definitely shooting at us.
"We either retreat or take the fight to them. As always. For Palaven, soldier."
"For Palaven."
The ship turned, and the wreckage of our neighbor became visible. Not much was left, considering we were quite close. Presumably, no identifiable debris will remain. Our ship is still firing at the larger pieces. Let those who were there die quickly. Finally, the intercom came alive again:
"Retreat is impossible. Everyone to your dropships and prepare."
Well, this is it. We're going to try to board this ship. The vibration started again. Another hit made the gravity and lighting flicker; the alarm wailed. We have problems.
***
Prophet of Truth. High Charity. At the same time.
Sometimes things don't go according to plan. The Kig-Yar ships that were supposed to deliver the new race began fighting each other immediately upon arrival at the capital. Or rather, one shot the other, which didn't resist. An attempt at communication resulted in nothing; it seems both ships are lost. And yet, they destroyed the second one. Did they not know? Could they not use our technology? That is a good sign.
One of the reasons humans are recognized as demons is their ability to instinctively use the technology of the gods and Covenant mechanisms based on them. It is the exclusive right of the San'Shyuum to decide who is worthy of wisdom. The fact that the newcomers couldn't quite get the hang of it is a good sign. Even Truth himself sees that they aren't particularly good in battle.
On the other hand, they are shooting and even piloting the ship. Not very well, but perhaps the humans taught them, or these ones are more clever? We shall find out. We need survivors. Who might not remain if the defense fleets continue shelling our guests. Truth turned to the Honor Guard, a Sangheili managing the capital's defense.
"Commander. Have you decided to destroy our new members?"
The Sangheili in scarlet-and-gold armor dropped to one knee.
"I gave the order to protect the capital, Prophet. It is our duty as your protectors. They will be punished for the intrusion."
Truth raised his hands. How difficult they are with their honor.
"And yet, tell me. How do you evaluate their skills?" He pointed to the battle projection. The shields of their last ship were already failing; there were hits.
The Guard looked at the screen.
"Low. Their level of control and piloting is weak. I could fight better in such conditions, much better. Even with a single ship."
Exactly. Even the Prophet sees this, not being a pilot or commander.
"Then they are not demons. Are you unable to deal with a single ship without incinerating it with the forces of the defense fleet? I summoned this race to High Charity to evaluate them as a potential new race of the Covenant. How then, Commander, do you propose to do this by killing them with the capital's defense fleet? A single ship, piloted by a crew of novices. You pointed this out yourself, Honor Guard. Has wisdom run dry, and is defeating them otherwise too risky for our great capital? Hmm?"
The Sangheili was clearly embarrassed. And the guards standing nearby were looking at their commander with disapproval. Such a victory sits poorly with their "honor." He knew my will and was clearly using excessive force.
"I will immediately give the order to board. And I will personally ensure there are survivors."
Truth waved his hand, dismissing the departing Sangheili. Besides the Honor Guard bodyguards, one other guest remained in the official hall: Chieftain Tartarus. Armed with a hammer, this large Jiralhanae with white fur is as massive as other representatives of his species. Larger than a Sangheili, much larger than a human or a San'Shyuum.
And he is loyal to Truth personally. An excellent moment to give him a few more political points, pushing the Sangheili from their place as protectors. Looking at the battle map, two things could be seen: the ship was no longer being shelled so densely; they were hitting it to knock out weapons and sensors. To blind it. And to prevent it from entering slipspace. And the captured ship was moving toward High Charity at an angle of about thirty degrees; it couldn't turn around.
The city is safe. It cannot pierce the shields; that is impossible. Even by ramming. And the guest has deployed a landing force. But the small ships can be let through. Show them our might before the talk. Let them evaluate the scale of our power. The Prophet pointed to the map.
"Soon this ship will approach High Charity, Tartarus. It cannot pierce the shields. But I believe they have deployed a landing force nonetheless."
The Jiralhanae nodded.
"That will not help them, Prophet. The capital's anti-aircraft system will wipe them out long before that."
If the order is given. If.
"Did I not just point out that you are in too much of a hurry?"
The white warrior bowed his head lower.
"Forgive me, Prophet."
Truth gestured for him to stand.
"The desecration of the capital by humans is unacceptable. The humans should all be killed, if there are any. But these? For you, this is a chance, Tartarus. Crush them, choose the worthy. And bring them to Truth. Choose those who are worthy of this. And prove that my trust in you is justified."
The possessor of pale fur, the Jiralhanae, rising from his knee, smirked with the full width of his muzzle.
"I understand, Prophet. I will prepare the warriors. I will carry out your order as quickly as possible."
Correct. Loyal and obedient.
"Go and return with victory. Then, when the pacification begins, you will lead the army into battle."
The warrior nearly knocked over the guards at the entrance, simply bursting with enthusiasm. They stepped aside, letting the giant through. Just what was needed.
***
Garrus Vakarian.
The shelling stopped as quickly as it had begun. The hull took some palpable hits through the shields, but we're still flying; the station is approaching. But why aren't they shooting if they've already figured everything out? Not good.
Then there were a few more shots; the alarm is wailing, but they aren't finishing us off. Though we clearly don't have much control over the ship. Boarding, it seems. They're destroying the external defenses, and then the boarding pods will arrive. And that's when the real heat will start.
"This silence is strange."
You're telling me, soldier. Strange. Ideally, we should have been smeared by now, but still. They're waiting. Or preparing. More likely preparing. We're launching the ships first, just to distract the enemy with an attack and give us a chance. The unknown is rattling our nerves quite a bit.
"Dropships, prepare. We'll get closer, then launch."
The Turians loaded into the U-shaped Spirits; Ghosts were installed in the underslung mounts. Landing force...
"They're dropping a landing force! I see multiple targets! That's why they didn't destroy us! To positions!"
The Spirits flew out of the hangar freely. It looks crazy, but the enemy clearly doesn't mind us letting ships out of the hangars. Especially since from our hangar, you can see a massive—damn it—ship moving parallel to us, but it's not even shooting at the Spirits.
Compared to our dreadnought, it's a whole flying city, the size of a Citadel ward! No, smaller. The wards are 44 km, I think. A supercarrier is "only" 28. Our little ship looks unimpressive compared to that.
And we aren't firing back at all. That explains everything; the ship has simply lost its headway. And now they'll take us while we're warm. They'll try. That ship next to us.
The small ships just flew past the giant, which seemed to be showing how small and insignificant we were by comparison. It's getting on my nerves, that damn bucket. Just like a Reaper. Only even bigger.
"Landing force!"
It's started. Presumably, our ships will either be shot down on the way or met upon arrival. And to prevent us from sending a second wave, new enemy craft are flying into the open hangars. Unlike the U-shaped Spirits, these look more like a sea creature with fins, a body between them, and a round "head." There are three guns on the bottom, which immediately engaged in a firefight with the turrets we hauled over to defend the hangar.
Grabbing a lizard rifle, I concentrated fire on a turret. One shot, two, three, and the gun hung with a hiss, ceasing fire. The other sniper and the turrets took out the rest, while I dropped the overheating weapon with a hiss and took the Widow. It's more familiar, though weaker.
The side opened as the ship hovered sideways on the second level of the hangar. A second transport rose higher, to the third, toward us. But the turrets installed here first tore off its guns, and then, when it tried to deploy its troops, a grenade and a couple of green flashes from captured grenade launchers flew into the open side. The transport's engines couldn't take it, and it flew into the wall with a howl, hit with a loud crunch, and plummeted down, where it caught fire with a purple flame.
Shouts of joy rang out, but this was only the beginning.
The first one landed more successfully while we were busy with its comrade. On the other side, the landing force—four lizards and four big guys in blue and red armor, resembling humanoids about a Turian's height or slightly taller—found themselves in the open. I managed to kill a couple of lizards with the Widow, habitually piercing their skulls, and switched to a red warrior when I realized my mistake. Shields.
These Elites with blue plasma weapons have personal shields, and the Widow is very poor at piercing them. Two hits to bring the shield down. Too much time for a fast-moving target.
The tall Elites quickly reached the columns of the defensive line, where they hid, firing at the defenders almost at point-blank range. And while we were picking them off, new transports were already flying in.
The Widow tore the helmet off one of the attackers, revealing a snake-like alien with a jaw that split into two. He roared, but the second shot pierced his skull. Done. Okay, where's that lizard sniper rifle? We're going to break the ships' guns.
An explosion rang out; we lost a turret. This time there were enemies in black armor among the landing force. An Elite, with a precise throw across the entire hangar, tossed a grenade exactly into the turret gunner, blowing it up.
Three more flew into the hangar on jump packs. I don't know how they got here—on the hull? But these flying pests immediately drew fire and fell down. The problem is that while we're attacking them, we aren't attacking someone else. The Elites are actively engaging the shooters in close combat, creating space for new groups to land.
Another pair of flyers are throwing grenades, attacking from the most unexpected directions. One of the transports opened, and massive green insects with green plasma flew into the hangar with a chattering sound. They died quickly—they don't hold up to bullets at all and wear no armor—but they created their share of chaos.
The lizards drew fire to themselves, and we almost missed a sniper. Considering that one of the ships (the second one also crashed down, and now three are burning there) continues to support the landing force with fire, it's getting painful.
A meat grinder started below as well; the survivors engaged the clearing group.
Of course, the beam snipers are quite decent at taking out the ships' turrets, but a third wave of transports is already on approach. And before being shot down, their ship manages to kill several defenders. Even if it's three or four, it's still too many. And they can land wherever is convenient for them. Not where it's convenient for us to shoot.
I killed another pack-wearer with a shot to the pack; it exploded. And I missed the moment.
"Garrus!"
I turned to see a blue sphere stuck to the chest of a shocked young Turian. He tried to grab it with his hand, and it stuck, and he screamed. Grenade! I jumped, and my body was seared by the heat of the blue flame.
Rolling over, I inspected myself. Smoke was rising from my armor; it had melted. But I was still alive. As I barely stood up, my chest burned with pain. I was out of cover, and a group of "blacks" had landed on the third level, where the snipers were.
The pain became unbearable, and I collapsed to the floor, trying to fire from the hip. One of the blacks, a dwarf with a grenade launcher, fell. The second hid behind an Elite and was firing green from there.
A blue flash was the last thing Garrus Vakarian saw.
Warning. User near death.
User not responding. No signal.
"They aren't managing, Major. Initiating reactor overload."
"It was an honor serving with you, Captain."
"Agreed, Major. A shame it ended like this."
The man in the white officer's tunic sighed. A shame.
Three minutes later, the ship detonated in a blue flash. The Turian landing force managed to depart for High Charity, but the Covenant's counter-landing force burned in the flames of the explosion. The supercarrier only flickered its shields but took no serious damage. Only losses among the crew. No one left on the ship survived.
***
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