Unknown point in space.
An Asari maiden appeared on the screen in an almost provocative yet strict suit and waved a greeting.
"Hello everyone! Citadel News! With us is me, Viala, and the acting General of the Turian Hierarchy, Rutus Victus."
A Turian appeared on the screen, covered in scars, in shiny blue armor and stripes across his entire... face? But he stands like a pillar; in heavy armor, he looks very pretentious, heroic, and representative. He turned to the Asari, bowed slightly, and began to speak.
"Greetings, Viala. So, what interests you?"
The Asari maiden, clearly embarrassed on camera (or very convincingly pretending to be), immediately inquired with a sweet smile.
"Tell me, what is happening in human space? Our viewers have been flooding the editorial office with questions since your last appearance! There are very strange rumors about entire missing ships, about entire armies appearing out of nowhere. Is it really that dangerous there? I heard that humans are quite strong," and she blinks her eyes.
At this, the Turian pulled himself together as much as possible. They always ask these questions of Turian officers, as the backbone of their army. As if it changes anything.
"Do not worry about it, Viala. I won't deny that our guests from the SSV Normandy somewhat underestimated Humanity. And downplayed their combat skills. Humans have shown themselves well in defense. But I can also guarantee that, aside from rare groups of saboteurs, they have nothing to show the Council Races in an attack. This means the initiative is ours; we just need to wait a bit while we, the Turian Hierarchy, compel them to peace and accountability for their crimes."
The Asari looked down cutely.
"So the events on your colony, that was just a sabotage?"
If the Turian officer was stung by such a framing of the question, he didn't show it by a single gesture. He simply nodded, maintaining visible composure.
"Exactly so," the officer replied, "a single ship that was found and destroyed. I am not saying one should underestimate humans; such a strike clearly refutes that. But something like that is the maximum of their capabilities. Sudden strikes in unprotected places lacking orbital defense systems. The central worlds, protected by the fleet, including the Citadel, are in complete safety. A mighty fleet, including the Asari flagship Destiny Ascension, will reliably protect the capital from encroachments..."
The image froze, and one of the viewers winced. A man in military uniform. The wardroom of a stealth frigate, with a Geth as the cook—a small but bright room with sofas, tables, and a TV. With the appearance of the Quantum Beacon, news from Earth appeared. And with the connection to the extranet, Citadel news as well.
"Turn that off," the image went dark, the broadcast through the Geth network stopped, "thank you. Destroyed us, yeah right. Good luck to them."
The frigate that had raised hell on the Turian planet is successfully continuing its mission. And it is on its board that the viewers have to watch how they have, apparently, been destroyed. Well, that's an exaggeration; the frigate is combat-ready.
They successfully bailed, completed a couple more tasks, and moved on to a new one. Today our point of interest is Tuchanka. The homeworld of the huge aggressive saurians: the Krogan.
Of course, one could read information about the planet on the extranet, or one could shake down the Geth. Their dossiers are broader.
"What do we need to know about Tuchanka?"
The Geth moved its plates, shone its flashlight, and replied:
"Planet Tuchanka. A zone of ecological and social catastrophe. Extremely aggressive fauna, aggressive environment. Poorly suited for the life of any organics. Fauna is strictly aggressive; destroy upon contact. Day length: 21.4 hours. Year length: 16.7 years of human space. Equatorial zone heats up to: 72 degrees Celsius. Poles heat up to: 41.6 degrees Celsius. Population: 2.1 billion Krogan with a lag of five hundred million. No capital. No large cities. Krogan live in the ruins of cities in numerous clans. Infrastructure is in its infancy. According to a decree of the Citadel Council, the import of technology to Tuchanka is strictly prohibited. Any encountered life form, plant or animal, represents a danger. High level of radiation, including solar. Reason: an atmosphere degraded as a result of nuclear war. Dust storms. Atmosphere is toxic to organics. There is a Citadel Council control station. Population 2400 living forms. The planet does not belong to Citadel Space; your survival is not guaranteed."
The Spartan whistled. The others were also impressed. This was just a solar hell.
"Even by our standards, that's quite a place. Was it always such a furnace here?"
The machine replied:
"Negative. The temperature rise occurred as a result of ozone layer depletion caused by nuclear war within the Krogan community about four thousand years ago. The current status of the community was fixed as a result of the Rachni Wars and the use of the Genophage, which maintains the Krogan population at its current level. Is a briefing on the Krogan or the Genophage necessary?"
"Not necessary, I've read it," the Spartan waved it off.
The situation was indeed unpleasant. Firstly, the Krogan look like an extremely dangerous opponent. A Krogan in armor should weigh comparably to a Spartan in MJOLNIR Armor and have decades or centuries of combat experience. And they survived in these conditions. Dangerous opponents, an entire planet of dangerous opponents.
"I suppose the Genophage doesn't make them any kinder. We're here for that reason, right?"
The first mate, sitting nearby and watching the news, nodded.
"If we're looking for Citadel-haters among the locals, we'll find them here. Our eggheads ordered samples of their Genophage and Krogan biological material. If we collect it, we'll take it to Reach. And then on leave."
From the depths of the passage came the voice of the head of medical services:
"Or we'll find a crowd of unhinged combat psychos," the scarred woman who looked out glanced at the surprised faces and added, "you're looking in the wrong place, girls. The birth rate of Krogan females before the Genophage—up to a thousand eggs a year. One female in one year. Now think about the speed at which they must carve each other up and be eaten for the planet not to be covered in a layer of multiplying lizards."
And she ducked back, leaving the team to fantasize about a carpet of copulating Krogan, gradually gaining height from more and more bodies. The people shuddered.
"There's something to that," the Spartan nodded thoughtfully, "with such an extreme birth rate, the mortality and price of life must be extremely low. I wonder if the leadership knows?"
The ship's AI, present as a small hologram on the table, nodded.
"They know, of course. But the possibility of producing cheap and numerous infantry, who also won't be human, appeals to everyone. And not all Krogan clans are psychos. There are progressives, Darwinists, and just butchers."
"Actual Darwinists?" asked a demolitions expert, a man from the landing force.
The AI calmly explained:
"They haven't heard of Darwin's theory, of course. But the idea of 'survival of the fittest' is close to them. And besides all that, there are various small things. Female camps, recruiters for the Blood Pack and other PMCs. All of this was transmitted by the Geth, with examples. So get ready. And by the way, I'd think about what you'll be moving in down there. Plus seventy isn't a joke."
Indeed, it's getting hot. Going down without a full suit is discouraged. But the Pelicans and Warthogs will manage. Plus we have M15 Mastodons. Let's see what's down there. The M15 Mastodon armored personnel carrier is a six-wheeled APC with a railgun or machine gun. Fully enclosed, which is good in such heat.
"Stealth engaged; no reaction from the Citadel control station."
Let's begin. Preparing for landing.
***
The frigate descended to the planet, dropped the vehicles, and took off. UNSC frigates have this function: landing on a planet for rapid deployment. It's much faster than dropping troops with Pelicans, which frigates don't have many of. This way, it arrives, opens the hatch, drops the vehicles in one go, and flies off to provide air support. Not to mention that there is no traffic over Tuchanka and any ship is visible from very far away. Simply because there are no others.
It's easier to work in stealth mode from the space station in orbit. And blow it up with missiles if necessary. Also, the frigate can drop troops or supplies in pods or Pelicans. The vehicles moved forward. Three scout groups to different parts of the ancient megalopolis, rising before the landing force like a vast stone forest to the horizon.
A group of two M15 Mastodons and four M12 Warthogs are racing across the desert. Humans are in the M15 Mastodons; Geth are on the M12 Warthogs—they handle such heat better. Around them are monoliths of white stone, structures, highways, and residential complexes.
Monumental, pyramidal structures made of stone are perfectly preserved, though they are millennia old and were not built by Forerunners. The city is built of white stone, heavy and dense. Narrow windows, more like arrow slits, thick walls. And all this in pyramidal structures dozens of stories high.
One might get the impression that the city was carved directly into the stone, giving the cliffs their shape. The width of the streets is clearly not designed for a human; an M12 Warthog can drive through the doors if the machine gun is folded.
Practically all the walls are at an angle, which clearly contributes to the strength of the heavy stone structures. The tallest ones have twenty to thirty stories. And all this for kilometers in all directions, tens of kilometers even. A stone labyrinth, forgotten by everyone despite having millions of inhabitants. Or even tens of millions.
Generally, the height limit for structures is twenty to thirty stories; the streets are recessed into the depths, which protects from wind, sun, and shelling. Like a labyrinth carved in stone.
"A bunker-city, first time seeing this," the M15 Mastodon driver noted.
Everyone is staring out the windows. Above the city is a dust storm and a yellow-orange sky. No clouds, no sign of water from the air either. Not a trace of vegetation or animals. Only massive structures and a lot of sand on the ground and in the air.
"Where is everyone?"
An interesting question. But expected.
"Burrowed underground waiting for evening, obviously. The temperature outside is plus sixty-five. I don't envy the Geth on the M12 Warthogs one bit. Even a breeze won't help in this heat. Good thing such heating isn't critical for the machinery."
The armor was repainted in desert camouflage, the Spartans' too. Everyone is in full armor; life support systems are running at full capacity. And while the M12 Warthogs have machine guns, the M15 Mastodons were fitted with railguns and a missile block for light targets.
"I don't like sand. It's coarse, it gets everywhere..." drawled the driver of one of the transports.
Laughter broke out.
"There's nothing else here. Sand, ruins, monsters, and Krogan. Nothing else survives in this shithole."
"No monsters visible yet either," a marine noted.
The group moves along a highway between two monumental structures, each the size of a decent palace. Along the road, one occasionally finds the husks of burnt-out vehicles or skeletons, confirming that life is indeed here. Perhaps hiding from the heat specifically in the machinery. But we aren't going to check that, obviously.
the AI chimed in.
"I'm scouting with a drone. Three blocks ahead of you, recently destroyed vehicles. I see bodies. Haven't found... anything else yet. You'll have to descend a level lower, onto the sand."
The vehicles moved to the site and found it after a few minutes. There are definitely no survivors. Angular, square, enclosed trucks on six large wheels, with the cabin positioned quite high above them. Good for moving on sand, lacking sloped armor as a fact—too square. Over four meters high, even four and a half, with a twin large-caliber cannon on top. The hull is torn open like a tin can.
And around are scraps of armor and the bodies of huge centipedes. It seems one of these things tore open the trucks to devour the crew. The people inspected one of these centipedes, which had clearly attacked the vehicles. Huge, it could devour a human in one go if it tried. The body is covered in tough armor; judging by the bullet marks, it holds up reasonably well against hits. Cracked in places, but to break the shell requires several hits from Council weapons in one spot. And for it to devour you, just a bite or two.
"It'll be too tough for a Warthog. It'll destroy it in one hit," the Spartan concluded.
"Look! This thing just chewed through both the vehicles and the armor. Or doused it with something. Acid? We should take samples."
Yeah, there are corpses here too. Firstly, pieces of Krogan armor. Но not the bodies themselves, just scraps. It seems they were eaten. And the damage on the vehicles isn't just from claws or teeth. The metal simply ran, as if dissolved.
"Yeah, looks like acid."
A soldier stepped closer, inspecting the monster, clearly cautiously and tensely. Even hacked into mincemeat, with broken pincers, the beast is intimidating. Each blade is a meter long; the chest is torn open, apparently acid leaked from the holes. The sand was corroded by a mixture of the creature's guts and whatever it apparently spits.
The monster's body was torn apart by the transport's cannon fire, but the creature clearly managed to devour the crews of both vehicles before dying. The second one lies slightly to the side; they managed to shoot it down.
It seems this thing tore open one of the Krogan transports like a tin can. The scraps of armor clearly hint at what happened next. And then it smashed the cabin of the second, breaking the vehicle's suspension with sheer force. The Krogan dismounted and finally killed the monster at the cost of their lives. And then someone ate them. Someone.
"Yeah, bullets might not be enough here. Need a bigger caliber. Much bigger."
"That's for sure," a voice dropped from above, "a Thresher Maw is a force to be reckoned with. Must be respected. The spirit of Tuchanka, humans."
Everyone raised their weapons. On the stone wall above us, a Krogan was discovered. In red armor, clearly not new. And without a helmet. Huge, he had managed to approach without extra noise, which is impressive.
A giant, over two meters tall and without a helmet. Seeing the reaction, he snorted and jumped down onto the sand, forcing everyone to scatter and roll away, keeping him in their sights. At this, the giant only burst out laughing.
"Scary, huh? Tuchanka—she's like a Krogan. Dangerous and cruel to those who look down on her. You see a Thresher Maw, humans. The strongest predator here. Not the biggest, though," no one is in a hurry to lower their weapons, but the giant isn't bothered by such trifles at all, "you shouldn't linger here. There have been too many patrols lately."
Now one can see the Krogan up close. Nearly two and a half meters of heavy giant in heavy armor. A massive body, the head positioned at human level (but lower than a Spartan's), but such that looking forward you look into his mouth. A wide maw, like a shark's, full of sharp triangular teeth. Wide, it could bite off an arm. The Krogan clearly knows where they are looking and smirks, showing his teeth, which unnerves people quite a bit.
Ah yes, he has a hump above his head, giving him an extra twenty to thirty centimeters of height. And heavy armor, making the giant even larger. His face is covered in scars, the armor in scratches and chips; clearly, the owner frequently used it for its intended purpose. Moreover, while a Spartan is quite human in proportions, a Krogan is a living mountain with a snout full of teeth sticking forward.
The Spartan asked carefully, keeping the Krogan in his sights.
"Who are you and why are you here?"
The giant snorted.
"I am Urdnot Wrex. And as it happens, I was hired to find you."
Everyone tensed up, though it was hard to get any more tense. The Geth spun up the barrels of the machine guns on the M12 Warthogs.
"Why?"
Wrex opened a flask and took a drink, paying no mind to the fact that he was at gunpoint by a crowd of people.
"Stupid question. After the stir you caused with the Turians, everyone wants to find you. To kill you or hire you, whichever works. As it happens, I was hired by the Salarians. They won't set foot on Tuchanka themselves; they thought I wouldn't realize who was being so stingy. But I am authoritative enough to complete the task. And observant enough to notice a certain busy black ship not far from the Urdnot clan base. You're quite noticeable, you know?"
It didn't get any better. The fact that we are noticeable is clear enough, but that we'd be found so quickly is undesirable.
"So, you want to betray your employer?"
This is unusual. Mercenaries, if they are anything like ours, cling to their reputation. If you screw over an employer, who needs you, being so unreliable? The Krogan replied.
"Not at all. I honestly found you and informed them. Except the Salarian intelligence—and it's likely them—never heard the word honesty. And most likely, neither I nor you are leaving here. They are up there, confirming everything from the station, and in about ten minutes, a capture group will drop on our heads. Or an orbital strike."
gift, if they have anything to give. And to keep the secret, there will be no witnesses. I wouldn't have lived to my age if I didn't know such things."
"Not convincing yet," one of the soldiers snapped, "you sold us out."
The Krogan grunted.
"Well, you still have a little time to talk, or we can prepare to meet the guests while I explain. Which do you prefer?"
It was decided to dig in within the shadows of the structures. These stone monoliths are capable of providing protection, including against shelling, even if it's not very reliable. The M12 Warthogs are mobile enough, and the machine gun is decent against aircraft, but there's almost no armor. The M15 Mastodons are sturdier, with more and more powerful weapons, but poorer mobility. So, they are to be hidden under the walls, while the M12 Warthogs and infantry with anti-tank weapons and rockets will provide fire separately, from niches and from behind doors. Guided rockets will help knock out the enemy's engines.
The Krogan continued to hold forth.
"I've worked with everyone. Asari, Salarians. Even a Spectre. Everyone has their own methods. But no Salarian will poke his nose onto Tuchanka. No Krogan will miss an opportunity to shoot him. That's why they always work through intermediaries. Intermediaries, however, often die when they are no longer needed or become too dangerous."
"And what are you to us?" the demolitions expert asked.
The Krogan bared his teeth. He generally liked the soldiers' reaction to him.
"Five hundred years of combat experience. Think for yourself if I'm dangerous or not."
Interesting information. This Krogan, if he wasn't lying, had already paid for himself.
"And the Asari, Turians," one of the paratroopers asked, "why not them?"
"Asari have their own clans of informants," Wrex explained, "Krogan have complicated relationships with children, and Asari can partially solve that problem. Then they just wouldn't have hired me; there are enough of their own willing. And the Turians have their own, those who are ready to cooperate."
Logical. Even if an Asari always gives birth to an Asari, the Krogan, tormented by the Genophage, must be quite well-disposed toward their children, even of another species.
No one believes Wrex, but the dots of flying ships can be spotted from quite far away. And they are coming for us. So far, he hasn't lied. They began to dig in faster.
They barely made it. At a certain point, marks appeared on the radar, and everyone frantically rushed to their positions. A scout drone that had appeared a few minutes earlier was shot down by a Geth sniper. There are no new ones; they are blind. It had transmitted the image of the new targets to us. The ship's AI pulled its own drone away to escort other groups; they need it too. One of the groups managed to cross paths with the Blood Pack, the second with a Krogan patrol. Machine guns settle things.
In appearance, the ship and its escort are Salarian. Flashes appeared at the ship's positions, and the Geth reported:
"Shelling. Everyone take cover."
Numerous projectiles struck our positions. The ancient Krogan structures held, although some humans were concussed or wounded. Numerous pits appeared in the stone.
In response, rockets flew from the launchers. The Kodiak Shuttle shot down several with lasers, but one of the gunships plummeted as a fireball, and the second, spinning wildly, fell down and exploded. The remaining ships immediately broke distance but did not fly away. There is time to reload.
A paratrooper tapped on the cover, which resembled a fortress wall.
"Sturdy."
The Krogan with the rifle grinned with his whole mouth, watching the ships banking into turns. They are clearly in no hurry to attack or close in. Wrex fired a few shots and explained.
"Built even before the war. Hm, as I said, Salarians. Their signature," after which he took a human rocket launcher from his back and sent a duplex into a gunship according to all the rules, on the first try, nodding when it exploded, "STG leaves no witnesses."
Speaking of which. The AI spoke over the comms.
"We've been detected. The ship has engaged in battle. There is a breach; we are trading fire with the enemy. We'll drop reinforcements and supplies to you in pods, but that's it. We need to retreat, shake the tail."
Great. Looks like we've been tracked. We continued the exchange of rockets and bullets against the aircraft. They made another shelling run; we lost a paratrooper. But that was it; the Krogan structures are very strong, thick, and were built with this in mind. But our position is not the best.
Yes, the pods fell not so far away; we saw them. And even a couple of rockets hit the ships. But the enemy has the air, and we only have the huge stone structures of the ancient Krogan as cover and limited supplies.
"We don't have many rockets," the demolitions expert snapped gloomily.
But the ship, covering the gunships, made another pass and retreated. Not completely; at least three drones are visible on the periphery. It went for a reload, one must assume.
"So, folks," the same demolitions expert snorted, "we're almost all alive for now, but our Frigate has retreated from the planet, we have limited supplies, and hell knows where to go. Is this what you wanted, Krogan?"
Wrex bared his mighty jaw.
"Watch your tongue, little human. You came to Tuchanka yourselves; no one invited you here. But you're lucky enough that someone else wants you to be alive and see everything here."
So, another employer?
"And who is that?"
The Krogan generally feels like the master of the situation. In broad terms, he is.
"The Shadow Broker, boy. He suggested checking something out. My squad was eaten; you're suitable as their replacement. My offer: I'll lead you where you need to go, and you'll go where I need to go."
The Spartan clarified:
"We won't go blindly. If we're with you, we want to know where. And first, we'll go for the gear; we need to collect it."
The Krogan nodded.
"Reasonable. The Broker claims that the Turians mined our major cities. With thermonuclear charges. There are coordinates for one, right in this city; it needs to be checked. I'll pay for it."
That could be a problem. Being in a city that could just be blown away by a nuclear explosion at any moment is not exactly what you want for happiness.
"Is the information accurate?"
The Krogan shrugged.
"Information from the Broker. Accurate, I think. So, shall we go check or wait for the big bang?"
It seems we have no choice. And if anything, the Geth will help with the defusing. But how timely, eh? Although, the Broker. Need more information. Especially since Krogan biomaterial is walking right here.
"Pack up. Supplies and reinforcements first, then for the bomb," and added over the internal comms, "need to contact the other groups. Maybe they haven't been spotted yet. Need to maintain contact; there's nowhere else to expect help from now."
Under the scorching sun, the column moved on. Five drones are hovering over the mini, studying the city.
***
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