Turian colony Kartaan.
The turian mining colony Kartaan is relatively small. Two hundred thousand people living under atmospheric domes that protect them from the planet's methane atmosphere. Most of the colony is hidden in mines, primarily the residential and work zones. Warehouse, office, and entertainment complexes ended up outside, under the domes of artificial atmosphere. But the turians, trying to give the colony a more familiar look, maintain a temperature of 26 standard degrees and greenery from the colonies. Everything is designed to create familiar conditions for turians. Until you look at what's happening outside.
Blue snow, blue clouds in a blue sky, minus sixty on a good day. Breathing is impossible, and the heat-loving turians don't feel comfortable here, but they live.
Why live here at all, let alone maintain a military base? Given that the planet's atmosphere is methane and breathing on the surface is impossible, and attempting terraforming is irrational? There are several reasons.
The first is the Mass Relay. A secondary one; from here, one can easily reach the Batarian Hegemony, and now, the humans. A series of relays, previously inactive, are now being used at least for logistics, especially with the appearance of humans. Thus, the station gained new significance.
The second is tungsten deposits. The colony began construction directly in an exhausted tungsten mine, using the rocks for protection against the weather. Over time, docks, atmospheric domes, and other infrastructure were added on top. And when they found additional gases necessary for fuel production, the colony's fate was sealed. Now it is a supply hub for Turian Hierarchy patrol ships and infrastructure for resting soldiers.
There are almost no turians in the colony who are not connected to the military. Everyone, one way or another, supplies, entertains, and profits from the soldiers. A small exception is the trade in confiscated goods—not exactly legal, of course. But the tribune, the station commandant, ignored it. Illegal goods are disposed of anyway, and items that would otherwise sit in warehouses go into circulation first. This gives the station residents some, albeit very uneven, level of comfort. Catching pirates and smugglers is a profitable process.
And the third reason: convenience of location. A direct primary Mass Relay to the central worlds of the Turian Hierarchy is within range of their secondary one, allowing this fleet to quickly reach Palaven if necessary and supply tungsten and fuel to the bases and shipyards in the central worlds. Thus, despite a small population that cannot be significantly increased, the colony is doing well and is considered a very comfortable place of service.
Today, the turian dispatcher was frankly bored. Another day, nearly thirty escorts, a dozen destroyers, and a couple of cruisers hang around the station. Many small patrol ships whose task is to chase pirates and inspect freighters. In two hours, a third of them will depart through the Mass Relay, but for now, there is complete silence and peace. A great day.
Until the patrols reported over the comms.
"Control, we have an unscheduled activation of the Mass Relay."
The turian straightened up. This was a military facility, after all, and there shouldn't be guests here; everyone arrives on schedule. A few clicks on the terminal and a conclusion.
"Nothing on the schedule, Captain. An intruder."
That meant raising the alarm and monitoring the situation. Everything by the book. Patrol forces would now intercept the intruder and interrogators would handle them. Well, and then, it depended on who they caught. It would be nice if it were humans. Their cruisers wouldn't be able to handle the entire fleet at once; it would be an excellent trophy. The base commandant immediately came on the line.
"Report, dispatcher! What about the intruder?"
It seemed that those sitting at the scanners weren't the only ones wanting a little variety in life, given how quickly he answered. Technically, the garrison, like the patrol forces, has its own leader. They would send a report. So this was likely pure boredom. But not answering the base commandant was also wrong.
"Unidentified ship, Tribune. Patrol forces have moved to intercept. The intruder will exit the Mass Relay... now. I see it on the radars; three minutes to intercept."
At that moment, a new blip appeared on the radar. There was the newcomer. The commandant addressed the patrol group.
"Report, who is it? Humans, pirates?"
The patrol captain didn't answer immediately. Judging by the radar, the patrol ship had closed in on the intruder while two others held it in their sights. Standard small patrol vessels with a crew of twelve. Small, agile, fairly inexpensive to maintain, and serving the Turian Hierarchy for hundreds of standard cycles. The ship's captain finally responded as he approached the target.
"It's... a turian ship. But strange, as if it were assembled from several pieces, non-standard, of different classes. Not very symmetrical; the bow section is clearly not from a shuttle. It's not responding to hails. Sending a boarding party."
At that moment, a new voice rang out over the general channel.
"I have returned to bring you the truth. The Prophets have heard you and are coming to bring their wisdom. And you will listen to me. And do not say you did not hear; there will be no second chance. They will be here soon. To ask: have we heeded the Truth, or is our path merely heresy? We are heresy."
Whaaaat, and what was that? What kind of mad prophet? The commandant thought the same and ordered:
"Seize him and interrogate him. Report to me when ready. And jam his comms; there's no place for this on the general channel."
Well, that was certainly variety. Mad prophets hadn't drifted into these parts before, certainly not in the dispatcher's memory.
***
But the turian tribune, the base commandant, was not particularly thrilled. Every arrival and departure meant a mass of bureaucracy. And a ship with a mad prophet arriving at a military base meant even more bureaucracy. Especially since the prophet was not nameless, even if he was absolutely insane.
The security officer appeared only two hours after the detention. Apparently, he started the interrogation immediately, which was good. The ship was towed to the workshops to be dismantled and understood. And the intruder was handled by the appropriate services, especially after identification.
"He's a private of the Turian Hierarchy, from the fleet we lost at one of the human worlds. Declared missing in action seventy standard days ago, along with everyone who participated in the operation. The ship is assembled from elements of other ships that participated in that operation. We found serial numbers from three different shuttles and a frigate. I ordered the information temporarily classified until we understand what happened there."
The tribune clicked his mandibles, not even hiding his irritation before his subordinate. A very good explanation of the situation would be needed. A ship is not something you can just pick up and assemble; there are many delicate systems tuned to the specific parameters of a specific ship. You can build such a "custom" job, but it would likely just fall apart or explode during operation. And this psycho successfully flew it here. If they have production facilities there, surely there was someone more sane? It didn't add up. But the commandant asked:
"Has Palaven been notified? What is he saying, anyway?"
For the media, such a survivor is good. And for the relatives. But for officers, a survivor and a clearly broken, mad prophet from the regular army meant trouble. And now, during the war with humans, it was a threat to army morale. A situation where your unit was slaughtered and the survivor lost his mind... That hadn't happened since the Krogan Rebellions. At least not on a mass scale. Not to mention more bizarre possibilities. So, before pleasing the public, a good version of events needed to be developed.
The security officer thought the same and replied:
"Palaven has been notified. Ordered to interrogate here and report to them. Until we interrogate him, the news is classified. For now, it's our problem, Tribune."
Well, that wasn't hard. It was a military facility; no one heard the transmissions except the patrols and the dispatcher. The patrol ship was on duty, so ensuring secrecy would be easy; all participants were in the records.
"And regarding information? What have you managed to learn? Where did he even come from?"
In response, the security officer silently turned on a recording. A standard interrogation room. A turian, young, but clearly scarred. Looking forward, barely moving.
The security officer's own voice rang out:
"So. What happened at the colony?"
The turian flinched and spoke.
"Pirates. On Dreadnoughts. They seized us, killed the humans, and wanted to eat us. They appeared from nowhere, not through the Mass Relay. They were looking for Palaven. We died to protect it. Everyone, everyone, everyone. Everyone died in vain."
Wonderful, mad delusions. But the security officer didn't press and asked another question:
"The others. Did anyone survive?"
The mad prophet's answer was uneven, betraying nervousness.
"They chose a few of us. They only wanted the worthy. Five thousand were taken for food; we captured a ship. But we were wrong; we thought there were only two ships, but that's not true. They killed everyone except me. There was a big one, white. Like a Krogan, but furry, with a huge hammer. He said the truth wished to see me. Truth saw me."
The security officer's question:
"Truth? What do you mean?"
The psycho replied:
"Truth, he lives in a huge city, like half a moon. A huge metropolis inside a moon. Citadel? Ha. Every ship is like the Citadel. We were allowed to watch so that when Truth accepts us, we would understand. I understood. They are coming soon; they will be here."
"Who will be here?" the security officer asked irritably.
"They. I am sent ahead to bring his truth to you. The Truth of Truth, the bearer of truth. They will come, very soon. Truth will send the white giant, and the Turian Hierarchy will lose. Because such is the truth. And no one will be able to withstand it. Understand!"
The security officer's irritation was audible even on the recording.
"Did you give them the route? Did you tell them everything? Answer!" The turian leaned over the subject, but the latter seemed indifferent.
The prophet-turian laughed.
"Why? We left so many trails... The humans knew; they hid everything. They hide well. The Turian Hierarchy itself gave Truth the map. They are many races. And turians will become one of them. We did everything for this; I did nothing, only watched."
"The Turian Hierarchy will win," the security officer growled.
But the psycho wasn't moved.
"Really? Their ships are the size of the Citadel's petals! Their shields are around the entire ship, not at the point of impact. What can our Dreadnoughts do against them? Our fleet, ours and the humans', was scattered by pirates! Pirates who wanted to devour us! What chances does the Turian Hierarchy have if we can't even handle humans? Or pirates?"
The security officer continued to press, looming over the prisoner.
"How will they find us? Did you tell them?"
The psycho laughed with a clicking sound.
"How? I am not a scientist or a navigator. No, I knew nothing. We had two ships. Two! We thought that was enough. Two were enough. But there were three of them! Three, do you understand? What difference does it make that we have two when there is a third? We did what we could, but they just had a third. You don't understand."
The recording ended. The security officer, looking at the commandant, explained:
"And so on and so forth. He talks about this constantly—that pirates destroyed their fleet and he was brought to some Truth. He couldn't determine the species of this Truth. Truth lives on a city-moon protected by ships the size of the Citadel's petals. And they will attack the Turian Hierarchy, and we have no chance against them. I, of course, reported it, but..."
But it sounds like nonsense. Ships the size of the Citadel's petals, seriously? A city-moon? Cannibal pirates destroying battle fleets? Nonsense! It seems he simply lost his mind in battle. Sad; the turian is young. But it happens.
"Report it; have him committed to a containment center," the tribune ordered. "He may have lost his mind, but he was still injured in the line of duty. It is the Turian Hierarchy's duty to provide him with treatment. As for what he says..." he paused, "report everything to the secret service."
Only all of this was so fantastic that no one would simply take this information seriously. Let's be honest, believing in ships the size of the Citadel's petals is impossible. Most likely, these are hallucinations or fear. A sad outcome.
For four more days, nothing happened; ships came and went to replenish supplies. The strange intruder departed for Palaven, and the situation began to be forgotten.
And then, purple projectiles rained down on the station and the ships drifting around it, simultaneously as patrol forces detected a group of enemy Dreadnoughts. Not at the Mass Relay, but from the other side.
Who? How? From where? None of that matters when salvos tear your ships apart several at a time. Furthermore, the attack was completely sudden. No, after the humans, sensors were placed not only at the relays, but these appeared close enough to the ships drifting by the station and fired a salvo. No one simply had time to react.
The siren wailed; ships began to turn frantically, all at once. Hindering each other and dodging debris, creating a crush. Which only made the situation more difficult. Alarm sirens wailed en masse; soldiers ran.
"Scramble the air wing! Prepare for defense! Notify Palaven!"
With a sufficient concentration of light forces, even a Dreadnought can be destroyed, especially since the enemy was not seen with strong protection. There are fighters, but the Turian Hierarchy also has aviation. Interceptors and shuttles also began taking off from the surface. Perhaps it would even be possible to fight back with their own forces.
"Link up, prepare to repel the attack. We need to hold out until reinforcements arrive."
Destroyers, escorts, a couple of cruisers, orbital defense, and significant forces on the surface against three Dreadnoughts with minimal escort at a distance of fifty thousand. They have almost no chance; Dreadnoughts are completely unmaneuverable. Of course, there will be losses, but the ships will simply move to the flanks where the enemy Dreadnoughts won't be able to reach them with their rail weapons.
One should not underestimate the enemy. But one shouldn't overestimate them either. There are simply few of them.
"Strike the enemy's flanks. Escorts and small aviation, contain the enemy's small fleet."
"Proceeding! For Palaven!" came the brisk report over the radio.
The pilots saw the same thing the staff did. An opportunity. And they attacked the lumbering machines. Of course, rail shots won't penetrate the protection immediately, but here you just need to achieve sufficient fire density and they won't be going anywhere.
The first images of the enemy arrived. Blue-purple hulls, more resembling sea creatures, with blue luminescent lighting in places—very similar. Only more rounded, with a distinct head on a "neck" and a rounded body, fins at the stern. But if salarian ships look like fish, these more resemble deep-sea dwellers.
And they attack not with projectiles, but with green, blue, and purple flashes.
"Is that... energy weapons? How powerful must their reactors be for such fire density?"
The attempt to flank the ships was unsuccessful. The enemy ships didn't even think of using a magnetic accelerator, but at short ranges, their weapons—simply incinerating small ships—were only more accurate and dangerous. Artillery batteries were discovered on the sides, and the small ships moved right under them. It seemed the attack had to be head-on.
Interceptors and escorts also engaged in a firefight with the attackers' small ships. The enemy uses twin cannons firing blue flashes that simply stitch through the Citadel machines' armor. On the other hand, turian interceptors are more agile and faster. But to penetrate the enemy's armor, time must be spent on direct fire, which gives the enemy a chance to aim and punch holes in the interceptors' hulls.
Of course, for now, there are fewer enemies. But is this all, or just an advance party?
Finally, at the cost of a third of the attacking group, the enemy's shields began to fail. The first tungsten needles pierced the enemy ship, leaving jagged holes in its armor. More and more. Decompressions appeared; one of the enemy ships shuddered and went silent, losing power. The second lost a piece of its side but was still resisting.
"The large volume helps survivability. But how did they get here? Like the humans, bypassing the Mass Relay? It definitely didn't operate outside the flight schedule."
Suddenly, the dispatcher cursed.
"New contacts. Ten! Twenty! Thirty machines!"
The turian commander jerked. There were the main forces.
"Where are they? Coordinates?"
The dispatcher was silent for a few seconds, processing the answer.
"Here, around us," the turian finally uttered.
The commander silently switched to the external cameras. Several ships hung right next to the station. Huge ones. The same fish-like deep-sea dwellers with glowing undersides; blue and purple flashes erupted from the sides and undersides. And also, some targets were enormous. Far larger than the Turian Hierarchy's Dreadnoughts. They kept their distance, but still... They were five times longer than turian ships and larger. They looked like carriers; many blips were launching from them. But they were so huge—even the Geth didn't have such things. And they are synthetics.
"Are those super-dreadnoughts?"
Then they began shelling. The plasma didn't immediately burn through the gravity-compressed armor made of the strongest materials, but spreading over the metal, it heated and softened it. This began to incinerate those in the outer compartments and external equipment. Then the metal began to bend and crumple, evaporating, exposing the station's interior to the shelling.
And between them, enemy strike craft darted like blue dots among the attacked small ships, drenching everyone indiscriminately in plasma. Not always successfully, but they tried to destroy weapons, and the density of ships around the station hindered the GARDIAN system.
Fuel tanks for the ships detonated, shaking the station and warping sections. But even so, the station and ships continued to fire back as long as they could. Only there weren't three ships around anymore, but more than thirty of various classes. Several super-dreadnoughts with tens and hundreds of aviation units, Dreadnoughts, cruisers. All of this against the station's light defense fleet. The Turian Hierarchy forces were doomed.
Several enemy ships descended toward the planet. And began bombarding the colonies with drop pods.
Turian Hierarchy soldiers had been preparing to meet the enemy the entire time the fleet had bought for them. They occupied buildings, rolled out equipment. They peered into the blue sky of the atmospheric domes, trying to see what was happening.
What they were not prepared for was the plasma bombardment that shattered the outer dome in several places. In one moment, the blue veil was lit by the silhouettes of enemy ships, and plasma droplets struck down, crushing the atmospheric dome and all those unlucky enough to be caught under the shots. With a howl, the atmosphere began to vent. Buildings simply evaporated in a flash of blue explosions or turned into torches that couldn't be approached for dozens of paces.
Automation kicked in, preventing the decompression of buildings. In the colony, for the first time in hundreds of years, an icy methane wind blew, making the heat-loving turians shiver. Even in armor.
And then the enemy poured onto the streets. U-shaped transports resembling sea creatures unloaded troops directly onto the streets and rooftops under the howling wind and the pops of energy fire. Small flying single-seat machines, rounded with two small and not at all aerodynamic wings with lighting, shelled everything and everyone with twin cannons and grenade launchers. With the same green projectiles.
Metal containers from which enemy soldiers emerged, protected by personal shields. Not humans, not familiar races. With unfamiliar weapons and armor.
Furry giants, like two turians hugging, with crude weapons, grenade launchers, and hammers. Lizards with shields and carbines, tall warriors with swords and energy rapid-fire guns, low hunchbacked creatures.
Huge monsters, even larger than a Krogan, with spikes on their backs, armor shields, and rapid-fire grenade launchers, encased in heavy armor of almost black color, incinerating Turian Hierarchy soldiers in the green flashes of their weapons. They walked in pairs down the street unhurriedly, firing at any movement. Their heads, like a turtle's, peeked out from the armor capsule, searching for a target. But as soon as an enemy appeared, they retracted back, leaving only a "cap" of the same thick armor outside. Then a disgruntled grunt, a green glow, and shots. And then the clank of their steps again.
A pair of these giants stopped in front of a building from which a squad of turians opened fire on them. Closing their powerful chests and heads with armor shields, the monsters glowed green, ignoring the bullets drumming against the shields. Then green flashes erupted from their guns, crushing the building's floors with explosions, igniting everything with green energy. Again and again. When the floor collapsed from the plasma grenade shelling, the monsters grunted with satisfaction, gunning down the soldiers who fell. A couple threw grenades at the monsters, but they literally covered the bouncing cylinders with their shields. In the flash, orange blood splashed, and the grunting turned into a disgruntled humming growl.
The remaining three turians tried to surrender, but the monsters either didn't understand or ignored them and killed everyone. Satisfied that no one was left, they continued down the street under the hum of single-seat flying vehicles, letting other alien squads pass ahead. Every step they took echoed with the clank of metal on the pavement. A living wall of metal and flesh.
The coordination of the defenders died in agony when the enemy turned on a jammer. The drop pods were falling literally on their heads, so there was no clear front. The only exception was the military structures. The commandant's office, administrative buildings, and the garrison managed to repel the first attack; moreover, they established communication via laser beam and couriers.
"Who is attacking us? We need information! Who are they, how do we hit them?"
"Unknown! The enemy is destroying everyone in sight! Hold the line!"
"We're under fire! Air!"
"They have mortars! Leave the roof and upper floors!"
"Then they'll drop troops!"
"Meet them on the stairs. Execute!"
The garrison was blanketed by blue spheres flying from somewhere in the city. Plasma spheres, striking the building's floors, falling into windows and onto roofs, covering snipers, quickly began to literally melt the structures, collapsing them and forcing the defenders out of the buildings where enemy infantry and armor could catch them.
Turian Hierarchy soldiers weren't just sitting in defense, of course. A couple of platoons, loading into whatever vehicles they had, tried to break through to the administration, where shooting was clearly underway.
Several more groups, driven out of buildings or retreating from superior enemy forces, tried to move to other areas where shooting was occurring. With varying success. One of the squads ran into a pair of giants. They killed one, pelted it with grenades while the turians were shelled with green blobs and beams. An approaching squad of attackers and the second giant finished off the survivors.
A second squad tried to hijack a bus to reach the garrison. They were spotted from the air by the flying machines. They turned out to be not particularly durable; dense fire from the surface allowed them to shoot down two machines, stitching through the hulls even with assault rifles, but the return shot of a green flash destroyed the bus and half the turians.
The survivors moved through buildings and ran into several plasma tanks. Rounded purple machines, four in number, levitating half a meter above the road surface, were shelling blue spheres in an arc toward where the shooting was heard.
The senior turian, peering out carefully, concluded:
"Artillery, they're hitting the garrison. Who has how much explosives? We'll destroy them and buy time for the others."
Four lizards with shields and a pair of four-legged hunchbacked dwarfs were patrolling near the tanks. Rocketeers were found, demolition charges were found. Not many; no one expected the enemy to drop through the dome, breaking it and dropping heavy armor.
The squad opened fire on the escort. Three lizards died instantly; another covered himself with a shield. But when bullets drummed against the shield, the lizard couldn't hold it, exposed himself, and was killed. The dwarfs also offered no serious resistance. But the tanks turned on the spot, using levitation, and plasma spheres flew toward the attackers. A rocket hit a tank; it shuddered, the aim was thrown off, and the sphere went high. But, despite the hole and the blue flame breaking through the gap, the tank was not destroyed and began shelling with twin rapid-fire guns on its armor.
"We're pinned down by fire, second group!"
"On it!"
From the other side of the street, a second rocket slammed into the tank, causing it to veer; it continued to move uncontrollably for some time until it hit a wall. The gun exploded in blue flame and the anti-grav cut out. A tall, thin alien jumped out of the cockpit and began tearing off glowing elements of armor. A few tungsten bullets solved his problem.
However, three tanks remained, which discharged their plasma guns at the attackers. A couple more rockets managed to drop a second tank, which simply fell onto the pavement, losing power, but the last two successfully knocked out the turians and continued shelling.
When another group reached the garrison, it had already been abandoned. The surviving turians had retreated toward the administration, as the garrison buildings were ablaze after the plasma bombardment. Only burning, partially melted buildings remained, losing atmosphere and therefore blazing with jets of fire. And bodies, destroyed equipment. The enemy tried to prevent the retreat.
And then the shelling stopped, and all communication devices, which had been outputting static until then, came to life.
"I am being heard, yes? Correct? I am Humility, a priest of Truth. The Prophets have revealed their wisdom to give you a chance. Cease resistance. Kneel. Accept the wisdom of the Prophets. Heretics will be destroyed. You have only one chance."
He fell silent, and the turians began to look at each other. For the first time in these few hours, silence fell.
"What do we do? Comms are working."
And then a new voice rang out.
"This weakling made one offer. I, Tartarus, will make you another. Fight! Resist! Do you want to be worthy? I declare those who live until morning to be worthy! Just start shooting and I will know!"
The priest clearly didn't like this.
"The Prophet of Regret ordered me to convert them! Do not interfere!"
To this, a coarse voice replied, not at all embarrassed that they were having an argument on the general channel. This was either stupidity or overconfidence if they didn't consider the Turian Hierarchy an enemy.
"These are warriors! And they must be tested as warriors! No warrior will kneel before someone like you! Only before the Prophets! So I repeat. Turians! Fight! The worthiest among you will stand before our Prophets! You have no choice. Do not fail!"
Silence fell. The offer was unexpected.
Looking back at the city, the fighting had frozen almost everywhere. Only the wind carrying blue snow and the burning and destroyed buildings after hits from these aliens' cannons remained. This was a defeat, obviously. Surrendering was an option. But it was their duty to buy time for Palaven. While the strangers were here, they weren't ravaging other turian worlds. But who would have the courage to start shooting?
Tartarus, it seemed, was also not very pleased.
"So, I overestimated you? Those of you who went to their deaths in the Holy City were braver. Yes, I fought them and killed them. And I will do it again!"
A few seconds later, shots rang out into the air. More and more.
And while the administrative complex was in no hurry to answer, the commandant's office began to fire quite actively, as did groups of survivors. At this, laughter rang out over the comms.
"Excellent. Among you were those with the courage to challenge me. Wonderful! Let us begin!"
And the lights went out. And then Tartarus's voice rang out over the comms.
"Let us begin. Devour them!"
And in the darkness, massive shadows armed with crude weapons rushed toward the turians. Other branches of the military were also present, but they were at the tip of the attack.
***
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