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Even in death, Private Callahan couldn’t seem to shut up. It wasn’t the kid’s fault. He was dead, his suit dutifully reported that fact in the corner of Sebastian’s HUD, not that he needed to be told. The young marine had caught a shotgun blast full in the chest while his shields were down; it wasn’t rocket science. And although it had made a hell of a mess, it would have been a quick end, better than some of the alternatives on offer.
Sebastian saw that as a small mercy in an interminable shitshow.
“Get it done no matter the cost,” they’d told him, and he had every intention to deliver. But, as he’d warned them in return, rooting out ‘every last one’ from a labyrinth of old mining bores was always going to be an expensive business.
A stray pellet had chipped Callahan’s visor, and his suit’s atmosphere was slowly leaking away. The hiss was just loud enough to set off the voice pick-up. Thanks to a programming oversight, the suit VI was just dumb enough to carry on transmitting the sound through to Sebastian’s earpiece. The intelligence was virtual, all right; it could detect when a man was dead, and when a man was ‘speaking’, but couldn’t put the two together to recognize that dead men typically didn’t have a lot to say.
Sebastian figured the tank had to run out some time.
Until then, the incessant hissing was a reminder that the kilometres-long tunnel was now open to space.
Lieutenant Sebastian Shepard didn’t know who had blown the pressure door, but he could narrow it down to two options. His side, or the other guys. If the first, he was going to kick someone’s ass when he got out of here. If the second—batarians—he’d been planning on shooting them anyway. The backdraft of escaping air had knocked him around a bit, until he got his feet planted, but it had done worse to the couple of batarian pirates who hadn’t been wearing their helmets.
There was a lull in the shooting while he, and they, took stock of who was still breathing.
For Sebastian, it was easy. Him. At least in this shaft. For them...he made that four hostiles still active in the limited range sensors could penetrate this deep in the tunnels. Radio contact with the rest of his unit in the adjacent tunnel was non-existent—down here, it was just him and Callahan, sputtering into silence as the O2 finally ran dry.
Four hostiles ahead. Doable. Maybe some more guys working their way in from the entrance, but on foot, they were so far behind as to be irrelevant.
Sebastian stuck his head around the tunnel support he was using as cover, quick and careful. He needn’t have bothered with the caution. The batarians hadn’t gotten their act together, and at that rate, he wasn’t going to give them a chance to.
In fact...he risked a longer survey. The only visible batarian was inspecting one of his fallen comrades. Not a friend of his, judging by the sudden kick he levelled at the limp, unhelmeted head, but Sebastian didn’t wait to see any more.
The Lieutenant opened fire.
His assault rifle stitched an angry path across the batarian’s kinetic barrier, which flared bright blue under the sudden onslaught. Sebastian let the muzzle climb, spreading the impacts to drain the shield capacitors faster. With lousy cover on either side and none behind, the batarian made the interesting choice to charge right at him.
It was maybe the best of bad options, and Sebastian respected how he committed to it, especially as the batarian had been off guard to start with. In closer quarters, it might have worked. For his countermove, he eased off the trigger for a split second to reset his aim, then nailed the batarian in the chest and throat as his shields blazed out.
He’d been ready to step out of the way of the doomed assault, but the batarian never made it that far; he fell and skidded to a stop at Sebastian’s feet.
One down.
No sign of the other three, and that was suboptimal. Their signatures were clustered around a bend in the tunnel, not going anywhere. Scans suggested that it was the end of the shaft, but as there had been more than one unmarked offshoot so far, Sebastian didn’t take that for granted.
He didn’t like how the batarians were just waiting.
He didn’t mind how one had just stood there in the open, easy pickings to his Lancer, it would have been nice if they were all that simple, but he didn’t trust it either.
Maybe they hadn’t realized he’d survived the ambush that killed Callahan? Or the decompression that followed? That was a little insulting.
If he could read their suit signatures, it stood to reason that they could detect his. But sensors were pretty rough down here. Maybe they were planning something, holed up as they were, or maybe they were just stupid.
Sebastian blinked the sweat out of his eyes, the best he could do while encased in his charcoal grey hardsuit. He was overthinking, hard not to when he was wired up after hours of clearing mind-numbingly similar shafts; the last fallback of the pirates they’d chased from their surface bases. For now, the stims were enough to keep fatigue at bay, dispensed in regulation doses by his suit, but his skin was prickling and the controlled environment had long since ceased to be comfortable.
He was a fair way from his limit; however, it had entered play as a variable he needed to keep an eye on. As for how his equipment was holding up, he’d run out of grenades two tunnels ago, otherwise the solution would have been simple. In terms of armor, he had no complaints of the Onyx hardsuit, and the Lancer was performing well. Sebastian expected heat dispersal would become more of a problem as the residual atmosphere dissipated.
All up, he was more than a match for three batarians, he had no doubt, and he’d just have to go in after them if—
Movement.
But not what he expected.
The gun came into view first, pointed at the opposite wall and no danger to him. A green-armored hand held it up by the barrel.
Sebastian paused, finger creaking on the trigger, but the unseen pirate made a show of gingerly lobbing the gun to the floor. Another weapon followed, then another.
You’ve got to be kidding me.
Sebastian watched with a baleful eye as the pirate surrendered three chunky sidearms to the pile, then, some sort of electro-prod.
The green gauntlet withdrew from sight.
Cautiously, with what seemed like a resentful glance at those around the corner, the batarian sidled into view, empty hands held up as if he wasn’t sure he had the gesture right. The pirate’s full faceplate revealed four black eyes. He stepped over the discarded arsenal and waited. Sebastian didn’t shoot him on sight, and eventually the batarian spoke, needle-like teeth flashing soundlessly behind the visor.
His two compatriots emerged, one with lurid orange segmented plates, and another in the same green as the first. Orange was in charge, and it didn’t escape Sebastian’s notice that he’d positioned himself behind his less-armored lackeys. They advanced a few steps, and Sebastian was content to let them; fine by him if they were volunteering to put more distance between them and the piled weaponry. He backed up with them, easing away from the wall to avoid tripping on Callahan’s prone form.
When he felt they had come far enough, he stopped and centred his aim on the batarian leader. They seemed to get the message and came to halt.
Twelve fathomless, beady little eyes fixed on him. Orange very slowly raised a finger to tap the side of his helmet, a universal signal for opening communications.
“Don’t you fucking dare,” Sebastian muttered in the privacy of his helmet. He had to hear them out, but it was a waste of time. He knew it; they certainly knew it, but batarians seemed to enjoy toying with the notion of ‘good faith’ that humans were obliged to extend. Rather than relinquish the two-handed grip on his rifle, he issued the command to his VI to scan for active short-range channels.
“What?” he said as soon as the connection was established.
Orange’s chin lifted in surprise, an ugly expression cutting through the guise of servility. He quickly regained control of himself, but there was definitely something smug in the way he pointed to his chest, really spelling it out for Sebastian.
“Shalk,” the batarian introduced himself.
“I don’t care,” Sebastian said, before Shalk could move on to naming the other two. The batarian nodded, outwardly unfazed.
“We...surrender to your custody,” Shalk said, testing the word out as though he found it amusing that anyone would offer mercy simply because it was asked for.
It was a trick, obviously; or even if it wasn’t, it was going to be a pain in the ass to supervise these three on the trek to the surface. Sebastian stared at Shalk and saw an unrepentant bastard looking back.
“You,” Sebastian said, gesturing with the Lancer at the first batarian. “Spin around.”
Green 1—maybe he should have got their names, but frankly, Sebastian just wanted to shoot them—hesitated, then turned on the spot, slow without being told. A model unarmed prisoner. The others remained stock still in his peripheral vision.
“You,” Sebastian said to Green 2. Again, the batarian complied, completely above reproach.
“How about you, big guy?”
Shalk was stockier than his companions, and his bulky pauldrons gave the impression that he cared about how he was perceived. He didn’t respond to the jibe; maybe the sarcasm didn’t translate, but like his twin lackeys, he obediently demonstrated that he was concealing no weapons behind his back. He smiled, all sharp, carnivorous teeth and palpable insincerity.
“Power down your shields,” Sebastian ordered.
The Greens didn’t like that, but Shalk didn’t blink.
“Do it,” the batarian said, then tapped out the appropriate command on his omni-tool. The kinetic barrier flickered into visibility, then died. His hefty pauldrons clearly housed a stronger than standard shield system, and Sebastian suspected that included rapid recharge. The Greens were stuck with basic protection—only good for two rifle bursts apiece, as Sebastian had proved with the guy earlier.
I really don’t have time—no, forget just thinking it to himself, Sebastian decided they should know.
“I really don’t have time for this shit,” he said aloud, holding Shalk’s gaze without sympathy. “So, you’re going to file past me and run in front. Keep your shields down, and head straight to the surface. Don’t touch anything, don’t talk to me, and don’t slow me down any more than you already have or I’ll shoot you.”
Shalk nodded slowly, calculating, then opened his mouth to give his orders. Under Sebastian’s cold stare, he abruptly closed it again, and pushed Green 1 to take the lead.
Sebastian closed the audio channel and set his VI to warn him if any of the three tried to raise their barriers. With the batarians safely in front, he took a last glance at Callahan. He could have split the squad three and three, but he’d reasoned that he had a better chance of keeping the kid in one piece than Ervine had of taking the parallel branch with just Phan and Wooleston. He hoped Janes would have made the difference for Team 2, he really did; he had enough condolences to write up already, and he couldn’t spin many positives out of all this.
At least Callahan’s last words were ones to be damned proud of; a rapid, slightly panicky account of how the pirates who ambushed him were positioned and armed. He didn’t have a chance, but retained the presence of mind to assess the threat and pass on intel. To translate that to be half-way comforting on paper, he used his final moments to communicate tactical information for the good of the squad. His contribution was invaluable in securing victory for the Alliance.
A fancy way to say it wasn’t a total waste.
The batarians sped up a little as Sebastian fell into step behind them, Lancer loosely trained on Green 2’s back. Scumbag Shalk had positioned himself in the middle again. The three were motivated, and set a good pace.
To Sebastian’s surprise, they didn’t even try to stray off the central path as they passed the offshoots that had proved so treacherous on the way down. Sebastian didn’t want their surrender to be genuine, not after all the men he’d spent getting here as part of the Brass’s goal to make Torfan the example they would never forget.
The pace was nearly as punishing for Sebastian as for his three charges, but he didn’t have to deal with the psychological pressure of a gun at his back, or the bodies of his comrades everywhere. Had there really been that many of them? He’d honestly lost count. Time got a little hazy as they wove their way upwards, and Sebastian felt the fleeting sting of a micro-needle dosing him with stimulants again. They had diminishing returns at this point, and he knew he’d pay for the spurt of energy with a wretched crash later, but right now...he didn’t even care enough to finish that thought.
Green 2 was flagging by the time they rounded the last corner, going through cycles of slowing then driving ahead with an increasingly sloppy stride as Sebastian caught up.
The starry night filled the circular mouth of the shaft.
“Shift it,” Sebastian said, forcing his voice to remain steady for the brief moment he opened the comm.
Green 1 jogged over the threshold.
It was soundless and over in a second: a mass-accelerated slug drove through the batarian’s helmet from the top right and out the bottom left. He fell, nothing more than an obstacle for Shalk, who staggered over the body. A second shot—again, from the high right—scored a line across his orange pauldron and disappeared into his neck.
Whoever was shooting got a little too pleased with themselves and missed the next two shots at Green 2. The batarian turned to face Sebastian and reached out in supplication.
No one could accuse Sebastian of being slow. He processed what was happening and switched into the squad channel.
“Hold—”
A body shot knocked the last batarian off his feet.
“—fire.”
Sebastian finished the command with less enthusiasm than he’d started with. Green 2 was still alive, kind of, but he had a big hole in his hardsuit, and was too stunned by the impact to do much about it himself.
After a few seconds of enduring his pained gasping, Sebastian switched to his pistol and finished the job, firing from within the cover of the tunnel. Ah well. He'd honored the surrender until it seemed more merciful not to.
“Holy fuck, is that you, Shepard?!”
Oh good. They’d picked up his transponder.
His comm blew up as four voices spoke at once. Ervine somewhat redundantly ordered Janes to quit shooting, Phan asked if all hostiles were down, and Wooleston argued that Janes should keep shooting if there were any batarians left.
“Nice work,” Sebastian observed, giving them a little longer to curb their more violent impulses before he stepped outside. He spotted Janes’ silhouette up in a sniper perch that had been occupied by a particularly irritating pirate when they’d first gained access to the mine entrance.
“Hey, the first two shots were good!” she protested, over-loud and jittery, as stimmed up as the rest of them. She forgot to say Sir, but he didn’t feel the need to call her on it.
The other three were arrayed in cover behind the splintered hulk of an old drill. Wooleston looked worse for wear, sagging against the pitted metal; Ervine repositioned awkwardly so that he could see Sebastian without having to take his hands from the pressure bandage he’d plastered over Wooleston’s side.
Sebastian could see immediately why they hadn’t retreated to their vehicle. It was on fire.
“Report, soldier.”
“Yes, Sir. We cleared the tunnel as ordered. We met some resistance, six or seven—”
“Definitely seven!” Wooleston mumbled, head lolling under the combination of a leaky suit, and the pain relief dispensed by the integrated medical suite. “Seven was a dick, he shot me.”
Phan emerged and tapped his omni-tool, sending his map data to add to Sebastian’s own while Ervine described their much shorter excursion down the other shaft.
Janes had made the difference, that was something. She’d shot a grenade in mid-flight before it could land in the middle of the squad. She’d also killed a critical power junction with the resulting explosion—hence the open doors—but Sebastian didn’t hold that against her.
None of them asked where Callahan was. They knew. It was the kind of day they were having.
But it could be that it was over. Sebastian checked the map and marked off the last two passages. They’d cleared them all, and unless further orders had come through, there were no other locations of interest in their sector.
He left Phan and Ervine to keep working on the team’s wounded medic—of course, it was the medic who took an injury, that was just perfect—and set up in the vantage point opposite Janes. Between them, they had good visibility over the entire basin while they waited for extraction. Or, if they were really unlucky, transport to their next objective, if the batarians still had foxholes they needed to be flushed out from.
On balance, Sebastian was ready to get off this rock, but he’d keep shooting if they needed him to. He made a mental tally of what the squad had left to offer; Wooleston was out, and Ervine’s metabolic sensors showed he was a few harsh words from a breakdown. Phan and Janes were good to go. He could work with that.