The battles for Omega continued. My agents and I were able to watch the events from the front row, literally. Thanks to cameras, robots, and a connection to Omega's internal surveillance network. Since we were forbidden from interfering, all we could do was watch, evaluate, and place bets on how quickly it would be captured. And occasionally conduct raids to ensure The Covenant and its proxies on the station didn't get more than necessary. In the same vein as the burned server room.
The locals, by the way, took my robot for a "blood-smeared Elcor with two cleavers and corpses tied to its body." The humans laughed for a long time; I liked the effect too, especially how they searched for that Elcor afterward.
Predicting the speed of Omega's capture is difficult because it is literally a three-dimensional labyrinth. The station's peculiarity is that the use of vehicles is very limited, and aviation is mostly represented by passenger cars. Larger ships can also enter the urban part of the station; after all, the air in this block doesn't escape thanks to colossal atmospheric shields based on Element Zero—there are no walls there, but even so, the size and power of a ship would be limited. Citadel frigates could squeeze through with some effort, though not everywhere; our stealth frigates could not. But only into the outer part of the station; the three-dimensional labyrinth of internal passages is not always accessible even for Covenant Banshees.
As a result, the battlefield is represented by infantry forces on both sides, supported by biotics and heavy stationary weapons.
The better-protected mercenaries, who have two Matriarchs (Benezia and Aria) on their side, use mounted machine guns, machine gun turrets, and robots. Against them are the Vorcha, who are numerous and attack from the most unexpected places. From ventilation, descending via pipes and cables on the outside of buildings, packing into cars until they are overloaded and dropping onto the defenders' heads.
And no, the Vorcha are not stupid at all; they are capable of ambushes and unexpected attacks, but they are poorly protected—most Vorcha have no protection other than a loincloth, relying only on their regeneration. This is enough to advance, capturing more and more districts, even if they lose ten of their own for every defender. And thanks to Covenant weapons, unexpectedly (for the Council Races), the Vorcha are quite effective against robots.
There are other races as well, specifically many Krogan, also with Covie weapons. The Blood Pack brought many of their kin, but not just them—The Covenant armed them. It seems The Covenant went into the Terminus Systems and began recruiting from among those dissatisfied with the Citadel, of whom there are plenty. But Covenant races are almost non-existent among the participants of the battle for the station; I saw Elites on rooftops a few times, but that was it. It seems they are here as coordinators, perhaps military specialists, but nothing more, leaving most of the work to the locals. As a result, there's no point in even capturing the locals; they know nothing.
Afterlife is burning. Or rather, about half of Afterlife is burning; the other half successfully collapsed, falling below the station's surface and forming a massive pit. There are other buildings damaged in a similar way where the most intense fighting is occurring.
It's clear they don't have many bombs, but they can "please" the enemy in the best traditions of kamikazes. The Covenant itself isn't shy about such tactics, but usually, Grunts with grenades act as suicide bombers.
Watching the chaos in the city from a rooftop is entertaining. There, a squad of Aria's soldiers is holding one of the approaches to the market. The hottest spot, for a second. Traders along with mercenaries against a literal horde of enemies.
The squad is positioned on a balcony above a ground transport airlock, cargo gates for vehicles, which are currently closed. With a couple of turrets and a heavy machine gun. It can't be taken head-on, as confirmed by the dead Vorcha, though the defenders have also taken losses. Bollards have been raised in front of the entrance to prevent anything large and rigged with explosives from ramming through. The air is controlled from the balconies, where patrols with heavy machine guns are stationed. Recently, a squad of large green Covenant flies appeared in the city. I haven't seen them in battle yet, but they are definitely somewhere. Extremely unpleasant enemies if your position isn't covered from the air. Fortunately, that's not the case here.
Effectively, the trade block has turned into a fortress and is handling that role better than other places. As far as I can tell, it is completely under the defenders' control. The attackers are also being cautious. What will happen? How exactly will this place be stormed?
"They'll ram the positions with cars," the agent suggested. "I bet twenty."
"They'll go through the ventilation; I accept the bet," the operator replied.
My Batarian platform snorted.
"They'll ram it, but with a large ship to punch a breach in the defense. There it is, flying. Camera seventeen."
The operator switched immediately.
"Mother...! They captured the hangars! You're a cheater!"
"I know," the "Batarian" said, spreading his hands.
The agent cursed in French, looking at a fifty-meter transport flying through the city.
"And they got themselves a whole set of fire ships for every occasion. The control center for Omega's anti-aircraft system—one of them—was also in Afterlife, yes. And as for firing anti-aircraft guns in a residential area... Hm, they will."
Tracers from shells screamed past the towers. Some hit buildings, kicking up fountains of debris that fell below onto the streets and leaving longitudinal marks on the city's towers. But several hit the ship as it was already approaching the trade district. It was clear the caliber was somewhat excessive for a transport, so chunks were torn off it, but no detonation occurred. It managed to crash where it needed to purely by inertia. Judging by the flashes of gunfire, the landing party at least partially survived, engaging the defenders, and an attack began from the direction of other buildings. I don't think they'll break through, but the damage will be significant. And it's time for me to go.
A Batarian with a pistol walks quickly through the dark streets. Trying to attract as little attention as possible—who knows what might occur to either the Vorcha or the local defenders. For example, near a shop ahead are the bodies of obvious looters who were simply executed. The residential building opposite has all the marks of battle and plundering, but it's quiet now. Either everyone is dead, or they are hiding. Neither option is my business.
Sometimes inscriptions in the Covenant language appear on the walls. "Greed," "Incompetence," "Cowardice," and there are always corpses near the inscriptions. Not just defenders, but civilians too. It seems they were simply dumped in piles near the writing.
Vorcha are visible here and there on the streets; some are collecting bodies, others are looting. They have little interest in me in my current form, but I still try not to draw attention. They have enough to do without me.
"This one says that Truth is that the gods laid out the Path of Truth for us, completed The Great Journey, and gave us signs so that those who accept their truth may follow them on The Great Journey and reach them, standing beside the gods. This one desires to ascend. And the Prophet of Truth leads us on this path..."
Another Hanar preacher; this is becoming a pattern. I'll have to conduct reconnaissance in that region. A red jellyfish with a gelatinous body and long thin legs. They don't walk but glide over the surface, barely moving their limbs. They have an anti-grav unit under their belly; the Hanar themselves are amphibious.
He is telling civilians standing under a canopy in the middle of a district already captured by fanatics about the new faith they all vitally need to accept. Usually, such prophets aren't listened to much, but here everyone understands that The Covenant is now the authority, so listening to what the new leadership wants from you is useful. And it doesn't matter that the fighting continues and at least a third of Omega (most of the "cap" and part of the wealthy district) is still under mercenary control after the first two days, though they are gradually losing ground. After all, in the confrontation between weapons and armor, the weapons win; besides, the defenders are not particularly well-armed or protected.
After listening to the preacher for a bit and recording what he was saying, I moved on. Further on, there were contested districts again; here the street was blocked by cars and there were Blood Pack fighters, accompanied by a Brute. A huge furry bastard, nearly three meters tall, almost without armor, but even so, he was just a living and very strong, mobile mountain of muscle, capable of tearing off limbs or breaking a neck without straining.
The giant looked twice as large even compared to a Krogan and was armed with a grenade launcher. No one present paid any attention to me, looking over the barricade toward the end of the street. Judging by the destruction, marks of battle, and an armored vehicle two hundred meters ahead behind the barricade, there was another defender checkpoint there.
At the same time, I could notice that where the sealing system was working, the armored shutters of the buildings were lowered. Windows, doors—everything was sealed; the building looked like a stone-metal brick. A sensible decision: don't expose yourself to attack and don't let the building be turned into a firing point. As practice shows, such houses remain more intact than others. I'll have to take a detour through the tunnels to avoid running across the battlefield.
Where do I need to get to? To the hangars, warehouse 17-A. Under normal conditions, there is good security there, but now everyone is more concerned with protection from aggressive individuals than with protecting warehouses. And I'm not the only clever one here. A Salarian is walking along the other side of the street. In rumpled clothes, dirty, with a crate in his hands, looking like a looter. But that's not what's important; what's important is how he moves. Smoothly, precisely, seeing everything and hearing everything.
He noticed me; for five seconds we measured each other with glares while continuing to walk parallel, then simply went our separate ways. He has his job, I have mine. This is Omega; even in peacetime, it's not customary to stick your nose into other people's business. Looters, mercenary groups, agents, and civilians simply fleeing Omega—everyone is saving their own skin. So it turns out that the defense of the station is primarily the concern of Aria's people and the most responsible residents (there are such even on Omega), while the defense is gradually crumbling. And yet The Covenant is almost non-existent here, only locals with not the best organization. Had the defenders been slightly better prepared, the attackers wouldn't have stood a chance without direct Covie intervention.
Seeing a familiar Salarian vendor, The Possessed approached. Right now, he wasn't behind a counter but just standing in the shadow of a building, looking around and keeping a low profile.
"How is it out there?" I asked without a greeting.
The Salarian jumped, but seeing me, he relaxed a little.
"Can't get any further. Vorcha, mercenaries, everything's a mess. They'll kill you just in case. It's chaos there. Chaos everywhere. Where did so many Vorcha come from on Omega anyway? And the Krogan—looks like the blockade of Tuchanka isn't working."
It isn't working. The Citadel government didn't broadcast that we simply wiped out the blockade station. And then The Covenant happened, and the Citadel simply didn't have time to restore the planet's blockade; they had other things to worry about. Well, and the Vorcha are basically too underdeveloped for their world to need guarding. There's a control point, patrols fly in occasionally, but that's it. And in the case of the Krogan, humans actually helped The Covenant, yes. Unpleasant.
"Bad," The Possessed-Batarian sighed sadly, "there will be problems with work."
The Salarian snorted.
"And you don't need to be there. These squabbles aren't our business. We'll wait it out and it'll be fine. We'll live like before, under new masters."
I snorted.
"With this many Vorcha? They'll eat everything. Need to get out of here, and fast."
The Salarian laughed, but the laughter quickly turned into a wheeze. Well, yes, the local dust doesn't mix well with lungs. In the more expensive part of the station it's still okay, but in the mines, you'll kill your respiratory system in thirty years.
"Run? Funny. Mercenaries from the corps, Aria, and the Pack have been fighting over the hangars from the very beginning, killing everyone who isn't one of theirs. What they can't capture, they break. We'll be shot just in passing. You do what you want, but waiting it out will be safer."
I nodded.
"Safer. Though for how long is a separate question. I'm not sure."
The Salar shrugged.
"What's the big deal? So they'll tell us to pray however many times a day to this Truth and his gods. And that'll be that. They didn't bring in the prophets for nothing, did they?"
Well, yes. This doesn't look like the usual Covie purges; this is specifically recruitment and seizure. Besides, the Citadel will be forced to deal with what's happening somehow. And if the Covies have done this on several worlds, it will be very bad.
"Good luck, try not to die here, okay?" I said in parting.
"You too, four-eyes. It would be sad if you died of stupidity. Don't let them sacrifice you to the new gods, cough-cough."
Leaving the Salarian, I moved toward the tunnels. Slipping through won't be a problem; it's a natural labyrinth here, you can bypass anyone and even from different sides if you have the desire. The only way to more or less control an area is to capture key points. Otherwise, attacks will come from the most unexpected directions, which is exactly what is happening.
This isn't my fight and I'm not getting into it, which means we screw ourselves into the ventilation while no one is looking.
Crawling through ventilation is uncomfortable, but I didn't want to risk the robot. And I had to move quietly, without drawing attention, while also squeezing through a fairly narrow duct. At the same time, I was able to overhear some things. For example, a Hanar reporting to an Elite:
"This one reports that the wisdom of Truth finds resonance in the hearts of the listeners. All Deacons note the residents' interest in the teaching."
An Elite in gold armor listened and nodded, answering in the coarse language of the Council Races—apparently not the best version of a translator:
"Continue. When the capture is complete, they must all accept the truth. This place will be cleansed of heresy. One way or another."
"This one understands," the Hanar turned and levitated away.
A Brute approached in his place. The same kind of gray giant, but already in proper heavy armor of his size. The Elite looked at the newcomer. And I had to rely on the translator program, as they began speaking in the Covenant language.
"Vugarr, have complications arisen?"
He growled.
"Nothing that would require intervention. These mercenaries are too busy saving their own skins to interfere. There are many Vorcha, but they lack mass. Too few Krogan. It would be easier if we used our own forces. And faster."
The Elite snarled.
"This is the will of the Prophets and a test for the novices," he noted threateningly.
At this, the Brute only burst out laughing.
"That's why I'm here and not there. I want to look at the Quarians captured in the docks."
The Elite, who had turned away, immediately asked:
"What about them?"
The giant reported boredly.
"They look very much like humans, only purple, and breathe different air. I think the prophets will decide to teach them a lesson. I would teach one; I wonder what they taste like. The Turians turned out to be quite nasty, unlike the Asari—soft, tender," he snorted mockingly, as the Elite clearly didn't like the last remark.
The Elite looked at the console, then at the Brute, and asked:
"The Prophets wish to destroy their worlds? The Quarians?"
The Brute replied with blatant mockery:
"Worlds? They lost two hundred system cycles ago to synthetics and are now sitting on a large fleet like nomads, deprived of a home, too weak to take a new one. Those same synthetics that are now fighting for humans. Ironic," the mockery could be understood even without a translator, as could the attitude. "Slaughtering them will be easy. Transport ships with mounted weapons. It will be easy."
"Like with the Turians?" the Elite asked mockingly.
But his interlocutor wasn't bothered.
"Turians are warriors; it's not for nothing that you Sangheili fuss over them so much. You'll say no? I thought so," he replied to the snarl with a smirk. "Quarians are scavengers. They won't stand a chance. We will find out where their ships are, block the Mass Relay, and it will be a glorious slaughter. Lots of meat. Nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. If they want to live, let them prove that right of the strong. Or become food."
The Elite listened and asked:
"You doubt them. That wasn't the case with the Vorcha, although the Vorcha aren't particularly strong either."
The Brute shrugged.
"The Vorcha have their own home, which makes them strong. A harsh, wretched home where the best survive and the rest die. The Quarians were told to be homeless, and they've been huddling on ships for two centuries. And that's not the Prophet's will; it's their stupidity. They are just useless weaklings who look like humans. If they are destroyed, the Journey will be closer and space cleaner."
They continued discussing for a while longer before parting. It's a good thing The Possessed doesn't necessarily need to breathe, or move—they might have heard. So I just had to lie there, wait, and listen until the Elite and his partner left. So, The Covenant wants to pay a visit to the Migrant Fleet? I can work with this.
Well, and then the Avatar moved toward the warehouses. I need to poke around them, look at the goods and invoices, search for information. Everything will be useful for intelligence, and while there's chaos in the city, this can be done with relative impunity. Especially since The Possessed doesn't just not need to breathe; she also sees in the dark and sticks to walls. And in the end, we'll decide how to take advantage of the situation. There is no doubt we will use this information; probability 0.9.
***
A couple of hours later, the one-tailed Possessed, located on the UNSC Apollo, entered the technical hangar where a Quarian, in the company of a couple of technicians, was trying to make a combat bipedal robot out of a Model 3 Cyclops loader. This part of the cruiser UNSC Apollo had slowly mutated into a workshop even before my arrival, and now that status was firmly established. The most epic technical thought was gathered here.
And right now, the team of technicians is working on a universal mech of the Cyclops-Defender type. Four meters thirty centimeters tall, two arms, two legs, controlled by a pilot. In short, a good basis for a heavy combat exoskeleton. Weapons can be mounted on the arms and shoulders, a shield can be placed in the hands, a plasma dome can be hung on it, and forward—delivering presents.
Actually, all the armor had been stripped from the mech; a whole pile of melee and ranged weapons and launchers lay around. There's even a prototype rocket pack with Element Zero. In short, with proper imagination, you can get a machine no worse than MJOLNIR Armor, though it won't be power armor, but almost a mech. But with a huge choice of equipment for different tasks. The machine looks very promising to pass up. Not only corporations know how to make a combat unit out of a Cyclops.
Today, my one-tailed Possessed is here. This also turned out interesting. Those who have seen my hologram even once know and associate it specifically with the combat Avatar and this Possessed. I heard a tall tale among the crew that intelligence picked up a small group of humanoid foxes and digitized one into an AI, while the others were hired. I don't mind such a legend, but now when I speak "on my own behalf," as ridiculous as it sounds, I have to use the tailed platforms.
This Possessed is perceived as an intelligence officer, although I never dressed her in a uniform or used the position; everyone just thinks so. Seeing that I had arrived, the technicians immediately stood at attention.
"At ease, carry on," I waved them off, "Tali'Zorah vas Normandy nar Apollo. Come with me, we need to talk."
The Quarian hesitated immediately but followed under sympathetic looks. I led her to the Warthog parking area and jumped into one.
"Get in, and there's no need to shake like that. The question is serious and I would like to know your opinion. I'm not going to arrest you or eat you," and I smiled with triangular sharp teeth.
She, swallowing loudly, nodded and easily jumped into the M12 Warthog.
"I'm listening," she asked suspiciously, glancing behind my back.
"What?"
The Quarian looked again and couldn't help herself.
"Does the tail get in the way? There isn't much room in the cabin. Well, for a tail, yes."
I nodded and arched my back, showing that I wasn't turned toward the Quarian for no reason, but to give the tail space.
"Something like that. There are difficulties, but I only have one. Now about the questions."
"Yes?" the girl immediately tensed up.
I handed her a tablet with a "point of view" from my Batarian. Let her get a feel for the situation. As she listened, the Quarian gripped the tablet tighter and remained silent. When the recording ended, she asked in a slightly trembling voice:
"What do you intend to do about this? You didn't come to me for no reason, did you?"
I nodded.
"Not for no reason. A transport ship is departing for the Contact system. We can be at the location of the Migrant Fleet within a week."
The Quarian was delighted, then thoughtful.
"But how to convince them without Shepard? I'm not sure I can. I'm better with mechanisms than monologues before a crowd. Do you understand?" the Quarian asked guiltily.
I nodded.
"And that's the problem. I'm not sure your kin will listen to us. More precisely, I'm sure they won't."
Tali sighed.
"And yet they still need to be reconciled with the Geth. That would save the fleet. But how?"
I shrugged.
"I don't know. But I suggest we try."
She looked at me suspiciously.
"And what benefit does intelligence get from this? Hm, synthetic?"
I snorted. Well, yes, she saw me in the Prothean complex. And repaired me.
"Contacts, possibly trade. The Geth are not against accepting the Creators if they stop doing stupid things and attacking them. Allies, not mindless tools. In the end, is a selfish motive really so important if it leads to good? You have nowhere to take the fleet, and if the history seen at Palaven repeats itself, the damage will be catastrophic."
"You're saying I have no choice."
I countered:
"There is always a choice. To do or not to do. Of course, you won't go there alone, but with a strike group. Time is short."
The Quarian nodded.
"I don't have many things. I'll be ready within an hour."
I countered:
"The ship departs in sixteen. Sleep during the flight; for now, you can work here. I only need your consent."
"Of course, I agree," the Quarian stated irritably, "it's my home. You have no idea how worried I was when I found out about my father. Thank you for getting him out."
Ah, Rael'Zorah. This Quarian will be very useful to us. He was dropped off on Omega; he wanted to continue his Pilgrimage there. He kept the equipment obtained on the expedition, and we stuck a beacon in him. He knows the password, he is known in the fleet, he can lead us in. Of course, for that, he needs to be picked up from Omega. But I have something to cover him with.
***
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