Garrus Vakarian, Palaven.
Palaven is like a disturbed hive. The government used footage of explosions on the de-powered colony as a pretext for uniting against a common enemy. The blacked-out cities and mass cases of radiation exposure look very much like war chronicles from the time of the Krogan Rebellions. The very ones young Turians see many times during training—the most important episode in the history of the Turian Hierarchy.
It was then that the Turian army defeated the Krogan and became the strongest in the galaxy, confirming its status. You don't agree? Go ahead, fight dozens of dreadnoughts and legions of infantry. The Asari have the best commandos, special forces. For the Salarians, the STG is practically legendary, but there is no army better than the Turian one. This is hammered into the head of everyone born in our territory. It cannot be any other way.
And now some upstarts, barbarians, have decided to challenge this. Unacceptable! And they offer a chance to win glory on the battlefield, driving the new enemy back to where they belong. There are plenty of volunteers, just as there were in our version of the First Contact War. Military traditions are honored in the capital of the Turian Hierarchy. Every teenager serves, regardless of gender. At least in the Inner Colonies.
This also applies to the stories of the past, the Krogan and Rachni Wars. At least in general terms, everyone born in the Turian Hierarchy knows the main events, the methods of the parties, and the major battles. And all the power of the Krogan hordes, which the tactically brilliant and disciplined Turians opposed while defending Citadel Space.
I'd like to see the idiot who wrote that.
The first rule of any war: you cannot underestimate the enemy; on the battlefield, it is fatal. The Krogan proved this until the very end, even if they lost in fleet strength. Say otherwise to Wrex's face, if you're a man.
Naive individuals consider the Krogan strong but stupid. Complete nonsense; stupid races don't make it into space on their own and don't fight alone against the entire Council Space so effectively that they have to be poisoned with the Genophage. It's just that young Krogan are overly aggressive and think only of battle.
With age, they become calmer and much more dangerous, even if they continue to measure everything by personal strength and battles. They develop self-control, turning a berserker into a monster. And besides immense durability and powerful guns, you are facing several hundred years of combat experience and a vast intellect. And possibly biotics as well.
Why am I saying this? After talking to Wrex and looking at these humans, that is exactly the feeling I have. By the way, I need to find the local Wrex. Wrex is several hundred kilograms of experienced and dangerous warrior who is currently a mercenary. Pay him, and then we can establish relations in joint operations. We could talk about the past—or rather, the future. I'll need to get on that.
So, the Krogan and the humans. Despite the fact that this is an obvious propaganda ploy, there is logic in it. We sent a fleet to show these newcomers who's boss; they responded. And they responded the way a Krogan or a Turian would—with overwhelming force. We will respond too, by sending a fleet... I think to Earth. They will open the relay and send an armada to the human homeworld. And stealth cruisers won't help them.
Stealth cruisers... John would be thrilled and would have bought up all the models. He collected a whole collection in his cabin. I'm absolutely sure he would have bought these new models too. I'll have to get hold of them. If I meet a little John, I'll give them to him. It'll be the start of a collection. He definitely won't be able to resist. But he's there, and we're here. And now we all have to figure out how to clean this up.
And clean it up we must, because when the Turian Hierarchy fleet appears in the human home system, there will be only two options:
Either we win, and then the humans will be very unhappy. Then we'll get a second Batarian Hegemony or the Krogan. Or a protectorate of the Asari Republics, which would be very unstable. Though what does it matter to them—humans will calm down within a single Asari generation. Two or three hundred years. Liara won't even have time to become a Matriarch.
Or we lose. That is also possible, even if few believe it. But if it happens, it will be the largest defeat for the Turian Hierarchy fleet in hundreds of years. The political consequences will be colossal. Not to mention the fully expected return visit from the humans, where Palaven itself would come under fire. And where, I ask, is the good option here?
"Your opinion, Vakarian?"
I turned to the Turian, the owner of this room. Not young, in heavy armor without a helmet, in command colors. General Falcarrs.
"Many unknowns, General. Their home system—I don't think it's poorly defended. And other colonies are unknown to us, right?"
"Tell me something I don't see, Vakarian."
Yes, I was brought in as a specialist more or less familiar with humans and their capabilities. Even now. And what is there to answer? I don't see a good option.
"One cannot underestimate their ingenuity, General. Their style is adaptation under limited resources. When they were forced into dreadnought restrictions in our timeline, they built carriers that showered your ships with a rain of fighters and missiles. Including Mass Effect torpedoes. I'm not sure we'll see the same now, but there will be surprises. And unpleasant ones."
The General nodded.
"What we expect, Councilor. The Salarian STG provided us with reconnaissance. And what we saw is impressive. And worrying."
"And not just what they saw, but the fact itself!" added a Turian who had approached in a scientist's uniform.
In the Turian Hierarchy, there are almost no civilian services. Police, builders, medics—all other services operate without division into civilian and military branches. So the fact that a scientist is advising a general is normal. I greeted him.
"Garrus Vakarian."
The scientist clicked his mandibles and shook hands.
"Ronas Toktias. My specialization is the development of military culture of races in their history and the influence of history on the present. I've heard of you, Mr. Vakarian. Your story is fascinating; the creation of a chrono-shift through gravitational fluctuations is..."
"Ronas, not the time. Now, the Salarian intelligence data."
"Of course, General. This is also quite fascinating. When the secrecy is lifted, I will publish a truly fascinating paper, indeed."
I was shown images, which was unexpected. And what we saw was even more unexpected. On the projections, radiation sources were marked, and there weren't just many of them around the planet. We're talking about hundreds of marks in orbit. Distributed in groups. Defense fleets, it seems. Further, streams of ships from the planet to nowhere and to other planets in the system—transport traffic.
"Are those transports?" The General nodded. "How many?"
The other shrugged.
"The filming was done from a great distance. It's impossible to estimate the dimensions and sizes of the ships. But one can assume they have no fewer colonies than the Turian Hierarchy. But that's not certain. We don't know their engine specifications to estimate sizes by radiation, General. Something else is interesting. And it's fascinating!"
The scientist applied several filters. Standard broadband scanning indicators, where radio signal data, thermal and gravitational images indicating engine operation, and other types of radiation that Joker could list if he were here are recorded. After that, all these scans are overlaid on each other, and a VI can track a lot from them, including the class and tonnage of ships. A complete map.
Only stealth frigates, such as the SSV Normandy, can hide. Which has already become the progenitor of a line of long-range reconnaissance ships. The scientist gradually removed the filters until they were gone. I looked at him questioningly.
"It seems you've removed too much."
The scientist didn't even hide his pleasure.
"No, the gravitational anomaly scanner still shows a picture. Unless the Salarians made a mistake or distorted the data, of course. Fascinating, isn't it?"
Is this serious? Not a single trace? How is that? You mean, no Mass Effect at all? Element Zero leaves very noticeable traces; gravitational distortion affects radio signals and other things. There, even the speed of light increases tenfold, which allows distortions to be seen by how a local communication signal or light arrives. But here, it's empty!
"You mean to say their technologies don't run on Element Zero. At all."
The General nodded.
"Exactly. The rank and file can afford blind hatred. Professionals conduct reconnaissance first. There is much to think about, Vakarian."
The next image showed signal sources from different worlds in the system. The system is fully developed, except for the far world where the Mass Relay mark stands. All planets except the first have their own traffic, clearly significant. This means that a single strike won't handle the task. It will be a siege, with breaks for repairs. And the enemy will be able to strike from seven different planetary bases. And surely each has its own line of defense, so it won't be simple.
I wonder if the relay was also inconveniently located for our humans? I never asked. There is a group of marks near the relay. Actually, there are quite a lot of ships. Hence the conclusion:
"In the case of a direct attack, it will be an 'all or nothing' battle with large forces. More precisely, a siege by a significant group of fleets. With unknown consequences."
The General clicked his mandibles in confirmation.
"And, considering your comment about the adaptability of this race, it is a great folly. We will not commit it, especially since we don't know what this is for," he pointed to the third image. "Any thoughts?"
Another image of Earth; it seems it was taken closer than the last one. And an energy signature...
"Is it coming from the surface?" The General nodded. "No, I've never seen anything like that."
This is something new. The radiation suggests it's something long, going from the surface into space. And there are many more than one of these things. Perhaps the STG scouts saw this themselves and decided to take a closer look. Plus energy signals, also from the planet. Are they running cables into space or what? What kind of perverts are sitting down there? The General himself is clearly in deep thought.
The situation is getting more non-standard by the minute. The Krogan, at least in their architecture, didn't do anything like that. The General drew mine and the scientist's attention:
"I must provide the Primarch with an attack plan, Vakarian, Toktias. Vakarian, you have seen war and have experience. Toktias suggests a very non-standard approach to defense. Attacking there is suicide. Total unknown. We will not do that now."
Obviously, we need to attack somewhere else. But where?
"Are there general maps?"
With a click, the General changed the image to another one. A map of the sector of space, with marks for relays and found colonies. Only three, plus Earth. The most distant one has the most marks. Let's see. A relatively small colony; intelligence estimates suggest a total population of about five hundred thousand. There are ships too, but far fewer. Yes, we can handle this without problems.
"Isn't it too little?"
The General laughed.
"Information is needed, Vakarian. A sparsely populated fringe colony is a good option. Especially since a reconnaissance-in-force will be conducted at all points except the central world. We'll wipe out the fleet, capture samples and information. And with that, we'll decide where to attack next and how best to do it. Maybe the Salarians will find something else. You're flying with them. Ready?"
As if the answer "no" was even an option and wouldn't be fatal to one's career.
"Yes, General. And another question: how did the Salarians get this data while the relay is blockaded? And there are no traces of a search in the images. They bypassed it somehow."
The scientist snorted.
"We don't know, Mr. Vakarian."
Which is interesting. Obviously, they bypassed the relay somehow. A ship with a long flight range must be very expensive; it's a specific technology. Fascinating generosity. But against an enemy not limited by the relay network, it's useful. So, are you ready? As a specialist on humans, you should be there. You can say no, of course. But it would be stupid and pointless. Especially since the Turian Hierarchy doesn't intend to stage a massacre in response. This will be our operation, with minimum collateral damage to the population.
A fleet of five dreadnoughts, forty cruisers, and a hundred destroyers set out on the raid.
***
Staging a surprise attack was not difficult. The fleet exited at the relay in the neighboring system, and then traveled in FTL to the human colony system located seven light-years away, just as the Salarians had promised.
Except here it turned out that they were already waiting for us. And a chain of ships was heading... somewhere. No traces of a relay or any other transport system. On the scanners, the ships simply disappear.
Another mystery that the raiders must solve before any large-scale attack. And judging by the traffic, the humans are leaving the colony. Interesting. The locals clearly tracked the installation, and when the fleet slowed down at the edge of the system to re-form, the human defensive group had already lined up around the colony planet on our path to the city below. I was invited to the bridge. Located closer to the stern, unlike Alliance ships where the bridge would be in the center of the formation. I wonder where these humans place their bridge?
A mystery for Toktias. But he's not here; he went with another group. In fact, the question is indeed interesting. The Turian commander oversees the crew. At the same time, Alliance commanders stay among the crew members, right in the center. I turned around, and there he was, the leader. I'll need to find out how these people do it. The humans lined up their fleet in a line, facing us, but they aren't shooting yet; they're waiting. Their forces are small: two dreadnoughts and twelve cruisers. The count is in our favor by all parameters. Almost a threefold advantage—ideal for an attack.
"Give them a chance to surrender, comms," the commander ordered.
A gesture of politeness. And a chance to get the trophies undamaged.
"Comms established!" the operator reported.
Obviously, human language libraries were loaded into military implants long ago. Just for understanding enemy communications. The Turian leaned forward slightly on his throne and spoke loudly and clearly:
"Human fleet. Your leaders have violated the laws of Citadel Space and challenged the Turian Hierarchy. I order you not to obstruct justice and to lay down your arms immediately. You are guaranteed respectful treatment according to the laws of Citadel Space as prisoners of war. Refusal will mean your destruction, which no one needs."
The operator intervened in a quiet voice.
"Observing increased outgoing traffic from the planet. They are moving ships through the transport channel with greater intensity. Likely an evacuation."
The commander added:
"Cease the retreat. Civilians are not in danger. This is an order. We are interested in justice; there is no threat to the population."
In response, a slightly distorted voice was heard. A human male, presumably.
"This is Captain Tackerson. I have no idea what this Hierarchy is, what the hell you're doing here, or where you even came from. This is a small colony, and I have great doubts that the residents I protect have committed anything. Which means you are lying."
Hm. This individual at least isn't shooting first. On the other hand, he must realize that he simply doesn't have enough strength and is stalling for time. The Captain realized this too.
"There is no point in stalling. You either surrender, or we resolve the issue by force, but then your people will die. Decide. Immediately! You have no chance of victory, and defeat will only mean the deaths of your subordinates, Captain. Now is the time for wisdom."
One of the technicians cut in again.
"Is it normal that the Element Zero scanners are empty?"
At this point, I, lurking in the corner of the bridge, cut in. I have to justify my existence, after all.
"According to intelligence data, humans do not use Element Zero in their technologies."
The commander looked at me but nodded.
"True, just monitor other indicators. They do use energy."
By this moment, the human replied.
"Why should we believe you at all and not think this is a Covenant provocation?"
Covenant? That's something new. The Captain simply replied:
"Our fleet is several times larger than yours. And we can resolve the situation very quickly. But I am spending time on negotiations. We represent the official fleet of the Turian Hierarchy. Disobedience is punishable by destruction. Last chance. Comply with the requirements or be destroyed. Any answer other than positive will be considered a refusal. Your answer, Captain."
Well, don't complicate the situation—surrender! No one needs this massacre; we have three times the troops. By all calculations, this is suicide. And a very stupid one at that. John is urgently needed here; he's famous for epic monologues in such situations! No need to make the situation even worse.
"Fixing energy spikes. They're attacking!"
The Captain grimaced.
"Idiots. Evasive maneuver! Return fire!"
And then we all, in a merry heap, flew from our seats to a deafening clang. I'll need to strap myself to the chair. My head is ringing like after being shelled by a flyer's cannons on Omega. Or that drinking bout with Wrex when he offered everyone ryncol on his tab. Only Joker stayed sober; everyone envied him later, especially Liara, who can't drink at all. It hurts, it's agonizing, but I'm still combat-capable. We were definitely hit; it was unpleasant. The crew scrambled up and took their places.
"Damage!" the Captain roared, rising. "Damage report!"
The technician, holding his head, replied:
"We lost the left nacelle. Nothing is responding; looks like it was torn off. I don't know what hit us—an asteroid?"
"The others are engaging," the first officer reported. "We lost four destroyers; they were simply blown away. The enemy is taking damage but holding."
Explosion marks appeared on the scanners. The first alien ships exploded or clearly went adrift. One of the dreadnoughts also began to spin uncontrollably. And there, another cruiser exploded. And it's launching pods. They are doomed, as expected. They'll inflict damage, but they'll lose. We also lost a couple more ships to a sudden rocket attack when we tried to move closer to board the dreadnought. A solid stream of projectiles simply blew them away, turning them into space junk in a single salvo.
"Maintain distance, approach carefully," the General growled, still holding his head.
A report came from the technician:
"Dreadnought is firing. Reload time thirty seconds."
Hm, slow. Turian accelerators fire every five.
"One dreadnought is attacking in bursts of three shots, Commander!"
Three seconds later, the world exploded, and Garrus lost consciousness.
***
Eith Mor, the Kig-Yar commanding the raider group, headed straight for the communicator in his own cabin. The catch had turned out to be interesting. Potentially, many group commanders can contact the Prophets. But without a very important reason, it's better not to do so.
The Prophets find wasting their time a heresy. And heretics end quite painfully. Branded and food for the punished—that is your likely end. Finding and destroying a human world is good, but they had already fled and left mostly empty buildings. Enough for the chieftains, completely insufficient to bother a Prophet. But this case was suitable.
He had managed to capture something interesting. A new race. The Prophet revealed his image after a long conversation with the arrogant and haughty guard. Elites, arrogant freaks. They seized power and decide who can talk to the Prophets and who cannot. They consider themselves great warriors and everyone else inferior, weak. Pforrrr! Kig-Yar are better, more worthy. And Truth knows this; he admitted that the Sangheili disappoint him. And they should be replaced by more successful ones. In the end, some can be left behind in The Great Journey.
But for now, he had to endure these grumblers. Ultimately, he managed to convince them that the information was important, after listening to growls about what would happen if the Prophet turned out to be displeased. But here he was—or rather, the hologram. The Captain fell to the floor of the cabin before the wise one.
"Prophet of Truth. I have information that, if you so decide, will interest you."
Truth looks searchingly. He knows; he looks into the soul. But I wouldn't risk such a thing without a weighty reason. Worthy of his wisdom.
"Eith Mor. The time has come for you too to justify my trust. Reveal the truth to the Covenant."
The Kig-Yar, bowing, spoke:
"We found a human world, Prophet. My group conducted a purge. But there were not only humans there. Some other race with which the humans had a conflict. They, like the humans, erased their systems; the Huragok on the station found nothing. But we easily destroyed their ships and captured many prisoners. Their technologies are different from human ones and do not resemble the gifts of the gods, Prophet."
The Prophet pondered, propping his head on his long neck with his hand. But it was clear he was pleased.
"Your discovery is intriguing. How many prisoners are on board?"
Oh, so he is pleased.
"Nine thousand, Prophet. I ordered as many surviving items and mechanisms as possible to be collected before moving on."
The Prophet waved his hands.
"And your service is worthy. How much was learned?"
Less than I would have liked.
"We do not know their language, Prophet. We are too foolish before your wisdom."
He seemed to expect such an answer, so he immediately noted:
"That is no longer your concern, Captain. Gather what you can, leave part of the fleet to erase the humans' traces from the surface of this world, and bring the prisoners to High Charity as quickly as possible. They must be alive and, if possible, whole. Every prisoner who reaches our capital will be paid for. Every one who dies will become part of my displeasure. Do you understand, Captain? They may be part of The Great Journey, and this success depends on you."
The lizard bowed to the very ground. Hiding a smirk full of long, sharp teeth. Getting their flesh for a taste wouldn't be hard, but the rest would be delivered; the Prophet's orders are not discussed. Trophies and prisoners delivered personally to the Prophet! Perhaps he would even wish to look at them himself! What power, what fame! What success!
"Yes, Prophet of Truth. They will arrive whole and soon."
The Prophet looked sternly and said:
"Do not fail me."
And disconnected. The joyful screech of the Captain's laughter made the guards look into the cabin. But nothing could spoil the pirate's mood. He was invited to the capital, and by the Prophet himself! Obviously, it was about a new race for the Covenant. These aren't demons to be exterminated. On the contrary, they clearly fought the demons. They will accept the wisdom of the Prophets. And they will take a place at the level of or below the Unggoy. And that is also good. The Kig-Yar found themselves somewhat higher than the Unggoy in the Covenant hierarchy, but lower than the Sangheili or Jiralhanae. Finding newcomers is usually their privilege.
If these bony creatures are brought to wisdom, they will be at the very bottom, and the Kig-Yar will be able to rise higher. For such a thing, there will be rewards, of course. Not to mention the favor of the Prophet himself! Looking at the guards peeking in, the Captain hissed:
"The prisoners are needed by the Prophet alive and whole. Get meat, get food for them. Upon arrival at High Charity, the goods must be intact; so ordered the Prophet. Personally! Those too stupid will become food for the rest. Payment for every prisoner, you grass-eating swamp-dwellers! Begone!"
The guards immediately rushed to carry out the order. They heard the main thing; it got through to them. Their captain had managed to distinguish himself before the Prophet, and they were invited to the capital, where they would be showered with grace and paid well. An argument that everyone understands.
***
Read the story months before public release — early chapters are on my Patreon: https://www.patreon.com/Granulan