Years 2544–2545.
…In the beginning of time, there were the Leviathans. One of the primary races, possessing the power to change reality. There were many such races, and their power was comparable to gods. Far more powerful than the Protheans. Their power allowed them to settle worlds and rewrite the laws of the universe.
We all, those races that lived then, were but dust under their feet. They could exterminate the populations of entire worlds with a single thought, and they did. And yet, there were those with whom they could not compare. Their own creations, endowed with strength and power, surpassed their creators in the art of destruction. And the Leviathans, having created their masterpiece, were exterminated by it. The gods died. Only their children and their legacy remained.
The Reapers. A race of intelligent machines, by order of their creators, solving the paradoxes of the galaxy through The Cycle. Every fifty thousand years, races that reached a certain level of development were gathered and exterminated, turned into new Reapers. In this way, the machines "saved" civilizations from oblivion. They solved the task set by their creators, which sapient beings were not ready to comprehend.
Their tool was Element Zero, formed upon contact between real space and a certain zone of the Mind. A divine space, the power over which allowed the Leviathans to create on a level inaccessible to sapient beings. It was so alien that the very fact of contact between two such different places gave birth to something new. And the Reapers, devoid of the power of creation, used it for their own purposes. Element Zero became the instrument of their power.
A complex material capable of changing gravity. And the Reapers used it, leaving a path of Element Zero for the younger races to the knowledge of their creators. They designed their technology to guide more and more new civilizations onto a path of development familiar within the framework of their own Cycle, toward destruction. And the fact that the exterminated races tried to warn those who would come after them, to leave technologies, only helps the Reapers. For it means that already developed weapons will work; everything will be simple and predictable. We have only just built our first cities, and the armada of black machines already knows how we will act next. It doesn't matter at all what you or the one writing this book does. We will end up where they need us. And the Prothean legacy will serve our extermination. It has already been doing so for thousands of years.
The weapons hidden in Prothean beacons on Thessia, Mars, Palaven, and many other places only make the races weak and predictable. For thousands of years, technical progress stalls in the form where the Reapers can easily exterminate the race, executing The Cycle. This is the reality in which we live. Continuing the history of cycles.
But then there were the Precursors. A race as powerful as the Leviathans. Another set of mighty gods, no weaker than the Leviathans, discovered their legacy. And they were disappointed by what they saw and by the stupidity of the previous gods.
They surveyed the new domains, evaluating them, and then refined them. The colossal beings actively applied biological and technical knowledge, changed reality, correcting the errors of...
The Leviathans' knowledge meant they were not impressed when element zero was discovered; thanks to their own understanding, they could create far superior materials. They repurposed the parasitic element into something much more useful. Like gardeners, they brought the galaxy and its inhabitant races to order and beauty. The galaxy flourished under their rule. Empires grew, honoring their gods, and the gods looked down from the heavens, satisfied with the deeds of their children. They even decided to grant them a fragment of divine knowledge. Seeing this, the servants of the old gods were enraged. Their plan was disrupted. They attacked, seeking to return everything to the way it had been.
The Precursors decided to protect their children. They revealed the wonders of Neural Physics to the younger races—the ability to manipulate the laws of the universe. The younger ones became more than just a little closer to the gods; they became an army protecting their home from the enemy, singing praises to the wisdom of the Ancients.
When the Reapers arrived in the galaxy, they suffered a crushing defeat. The immeasurable power of thousands of immortal machines was shattered. They fled into the intergalactic dark, and the Ancients were left to deal with the consequences.
The Precursors protected not only themselves but also the younger races striving to reach the level of the strongest. There were conflicts and there was peace in the galaxy. Discord and harmony. But the Precursors followed the principle of the Mantle of Responsibility, a concept in which the strongest of races is responsible for order in the galaxy, ensuring the younger ones have their chance at happiness. The Precursors fulfilled their role with all due diligence. And yet, they erred, making the same mistake as the Leviathans. The creation was consumed by envy for the creator.
Tens and hundreds of thousands of years of peace passed before one of the younger races, first among equals, grew proud. They called themselves the Forerunners. In their drive to reach the power of the Precursors, they stopped at nothing. Incapable of true creation, they merely imitated their gods, striving to become like them, but bigger and better. And they believed they were capable of it.
Pride consumed the Forerunners, and sparing neither themselves nor others, they attacked the Precursors. The battle was bloody and cruel; worlds shuddered and were destroyed, and weapons that scorched entire sectors of the galaxy were deployed. Stars ignited and extinguished, and the fabric of reality was rewritten. The power of Neural Physics warped space, and parasitic materials began to accumulate in our reality once more. The poison of element zero began to infect the galaxy again. And there was no one left to fix it.
The Precursors were defeated and exterminated. Every last one.
The Forerunners declared they had accepted the Mantle and proclaimed themselves the rulers of the galaxy. Judges and executioners. An attempt to return, made once again by the Reapers, was successfully repelled, as were many others seeking to test the strength of the new hegemon. But the Forerunners remembered exactly how they had gained power, and they suppressed such encroachments radically—through the total extermination of the attackers. Their victory over the Reapers became proof of their strength, of their order.
And yet, as time went on, stability was increasingly lost. The Forerunners relied on numbers, but each subsequent war was bloodier than the last. Biotics appeared, and stars began to go out. Thousands of years passed between these events until one day, Humans awakened the wrath of the Precursors. Ancient Humanity, existing in those times, found a biological weapon and used it against the then-hegemon of the galaxy: the Forerunners.
This weapon was the final curse of the Precursors, left by them to exterminate the Forerunners for their betrayal. At first, the poison began to exterminate Humans as well, but they found a way to solve the problem. The Forerunners, however, were poisoned by this toxin. Organics, synthetics, Neural Physics—the fury of the Precursors was indescribable, and in their final act of creation, they did everything to ensure the traitors could not escape their vengeance. And they could not. No one could.
The galaxy was completely purged; the Forerunners perished, but before they did, they managed to nearly exterminate Humanity, stripping them of everything and driving the few survivors into caves and forests. Without technology, without memory of the past. Then they died out themselves, leaving behind numerous monuments to their might in the depths of the galaxy. Machines so colossal that the creations of the Protheans pale before them. The Citadel pales before them. Gifts from the dead, left for those who would come after.
The Reapers, watching their collapse from beyond the borders of the galaxy, returned. In time, Humanity returned as well, once again challenging those who watch over peace and order in the galaxy. The Cycle began anew. And the stability of the galaxy was threatened.
The Asari Matriarch closed the book, printed using an ancient method on leather and paper, and set it on the table with a thud. She looked around at her colleagues, fellow Asari from the Council of Matriarchs.
"The prophets of the Cerberus organization wrote this 'Word of the Ancient.' The text states it was written from the words of a direct participant in the events. We managed to obtain one of the original books belonging to their prophets. The prophet himself did not survive the capture attempt."
"Nonsense," snorted a warrior Matriarch, "fairy tales for naive children. Who even believes in such things? Fanatics and fools?"
The others nodded. But the leader, the one who had read the text, countered while looking at the book:
"I cross-referenced this information with what the Prothean VI Vengeance in the main temple could say. While it couldn't confirm everything, the parts concerning the Forerunners and Protheans—yes. It agrees that the information is inaccurate and incomplete. That is true. But otherwise, it is detailed enough and quite verifiable."
Those speaking froze. They looked at the archaic book once more.
"That... changes things. And what did Vigil say, from Ilos?" another Matriarch asked cautiously.
The leader sighed.
"He also agrees that the information is generally realistic, if imprecise. He suggests the information might be taken from another Prothean library."
At this point, the council tensed. It is expected that the Council Races turn over all discovered beacons for study. Of course, the Asari have no intention of giving up Vengeance and its massive data array. Nor Ilos, though some artifacts were given up from there—those without significant value.
The Citadel is helped by the fact that studying Prothean data is not simple. They have their own language, culture, and a different method of communication. Without a translator or a team of specialists, you won't understand much. But the fact that a large organization was able to obtain a Prothean beacon and decrypt it... That radically changes the situation.
"What were we able to learn from the Shadow Broker?"
The Matriarch responsible for intelligence sighed.
"The Shadow Broker is obviously covering for Cerberus. There are grounds to suggest they are connected. Information is minimal and as vague as possible. We need alternative sources. Cerberus initially had multiple security holes due to the influx of newcomers, but over the last year, they have been fixing the situation, excluding agents from the inner circle. There is no information on the location of their scientific team and Prothean heritage. However, very unusual technologies are being noted. Technologies using principles unknown to us. Unfortunately, the weapons have a self-destruct system; we haven't managed to obtain samples yet."
If they have a Prothean library, it's not surprising. Technologies from there would be extremely, extremely valuable. And if the Shadow Broker is selling them for a high price... We need to find and secure them for ourselves before the likes of the Batarians from Khar'Shan get this knowledge.
But the scale of the problem is colossal. The Shadow Broker knows how to keep secrets and has a mass of agents on the payroll within the armed forces of all races. If we start digging under him, problems will arise very quickly.
The Shadow Broker himself isn't particularly dangerous. Access to confidential information serves as both a blackmail tool and a restraint for him. If the Broker starts throwing secrets around too freely, he will be taken down by joint efforts. Cerberus, separate from the Broker, is just one of many, many groups in the galaxy. The Terminus Systems are full of them; there's nothing to be surprised about.
Even a Prothean beacon by itself isn't a problem. They are found, if not too often. And all of them, sooner or later, end up with either the Batarians or the Citadel. Simply because mercenaries don't have the resources to decrypt them. They are valuable precisely for sale. But if the Broker has the keys to the beacons, that radically changes the matter.
"We should pay more attention to this situation," the Matriarch said, "perhaps we'll have to remind the Shadow Broker of his place in the system."
***
Two Covenant raiding ships hung in orbit over a mining colony in the Terminus Systems. All strike craft had been deployed and were smashing the Salarian mining base on the surface. The carriers remained in orbit in case local patrols appeared. Especially since the locals had heard of the Covenant and weren't interfering, allowing the Kig-Yar to do their work below. Looting, eating, and capturing.
Another pair of smaller ships had landed troops and were providing support, hovering in the thick layers of the atmosphere.
"Mass Relay is active. Enemy, four Hounds," reported a Kig-Yar crew member.
"Intercept," ordered the captain, "we are stronger; we will drive them off."
Both ships turned toward the Mass Relay, from which the scanning system picked out five targets. Four were already known beam raiders, which the locals call by the strange name Auxilia-class, and the Covenant raiders call small assault frigates, or Hounds.
The Citadel ships simultaneously accelerated; in less than an hour, they would reach the colony. Everything was expected. Or not quite.
"Why are there eight of them now?" one of the bridge operators asked in surprise.
The captain immediately stared at the instruments. Indeed, although four targets had exited the Mass Relay, there were now eight. Suspicious. The captain raised his voice, reminding his subordinates who was in charge.
"Looks like they were under cloaking. Notify the surface, tell them to finish up. Immediately!"
"Done, Chieftain."
Then the local ships performed a strange maneuver. Half of them slowed down mid-route, and a minute later, they accelerated again. It was strange, but they were still moving toward the Covenant ships. Did they really not understand that four against four was not in their favor? Even eight against four was still not an even score. Though it would mean serious losses, so it was better not to let it come to that. And the fact that they were moving in waves made their situation even worse. Lower fire density. This was suspicious. And the number of targets increased even more.
"Now there are twelve. Projectiles?"
It seemed so. The captain noted that the projectiles were moving much faster than the ships. If the ships would be here within an hour, the projectiles had already almost reached the target. Either the ships had slowed down, or the projectiles were quite fast. Unclear. But the ships should be able to withstand a single shot! The captain ordered:
"Shields to maximum. It seems some kind of weapon is attacking us. And hurry those ones below. Something incomprehensible is happening. We're leaving; this isn't our problem."
The raiders from the surface were already taking off when a flash appeared in space at a considerable distance, then another. And four bright beams struck the Covenant ships in orbit.
Alarm systems wailed as the beams burned through shields and left holes in the raiders' hulls. The Kig-Yar fell as internal explosions began. A grinding sound echoed; the ventilation system failed. The captain, thrown from the bridge platform, climbed out of a pit and demanded irritably:
"Damage? What was that, and what is the damage?"
An officer who had stood up looked at the ship's hologram, which was riddled with alarm markers.
"Two hits. One tore apart the gun deck; there's plasma there now. The second damaged the hangars and the stabilization system, but not critically. The second ship... They are abandoning ship. Their reactor is unstable; they won't be going anywhere."
And indeed, the hologram of the second ship showed a breach in the reactor zone, and more and more compartments were turning black, indicating their destruction. Through the observation force field, the second ship could be seen being consumed by internal explosions tearing apart the hull plating. Flames burst through the holes, and the ship itself began to spin around its axis. The captain clicked his beak in irritation.
"Pick up the survivors and we're leaving. We need to get out before the second volley reaches us."
They didn't make it.
"Local patrols are attacking!"
The planetary patrol, which had been too cowardly to engage before, suddenly surged into the attack. Even with such damage, the Kig-Yar raiders could fight back, but they no longer had the resources to both fight and pick up survivors. The captain ordered:
"Destroy the beast. Then we leave. Raiders—jump in the atmosphere. Let them pay."
To those in the know, the cruelty of such a decision was obvious. Transitioning into Slipspace from within an atmosphere causes a massive explosion. There would be no survivors in the targeted city, nor would the city itself remain. Some of the debris could be pulled into the Slipspace vortex along with the ship, and their death would be even more agonizing.
The subordinate broke into a clicking laugh.
"We'll do it."
The Turian raiders of the ATOSN-Punisher arriving in the system found a vortex where the colony had been and the wreckage of a Covenant ship in orbit. But the commander of the task force was satisfied.
"Report: Deployment of experimental Rift Torpedoes carried out. Four projectiles used, three hits confirmed, one critical, target destroyed. The second escaped. Colony exterminated by atmospheric jump."
Rift Torpedoes are a joint development by Salarian and Turian scientists against Covenant ships. A Salarian-model Mass Effect Core, unstable but capable of up to fifty light-years per day, delivers the projectile to the firing point. After that, the element zero forms a point of super-mass, and the nuclear charge upon explosion is focused by gravitational fields into a narrow laser beam of pure energy. Calculations suggest a Covenant cruiser could withstand several such hits, but because the projectiles move via FTL Drive, they are practically invulnerable to point-defense systems of any known design. This means it's only a matter of aiming accuracy. Two charges, according to the ship's VI, were not particularly accurate, only scorching the shields. Acceptable for a prototype. It just means the guidance system needs refinement.
But two hit, and they dealt good damage to the raiders. This meant the weapon was good and promising. Of course, thirty-meter missiles are quite large and can't be mounted just anywhere. But the mere fact that the Citadel has a weapon capable of piercing Covenant shields and dealing damage without a direct trade-off is worth it. Fewer losses, more ships survive. And the Covenant will be looking over their shoulders, as such projectiles can be carried by a relatively small ship. One of the Turian operators reported:
"Covenant survivor forces detected."
The captain only gave a cold order:
"Destroy them. For what they did to the colony—destroy them."
The Auxilia-class ships opened fire.
***
Khaela.
Office of Naval Intelligence (ONI) rapid response teams were chasing a bus full of rebels through the city. More precisely, the rebels had taken civilian hostages and hijacked a bus. Now they were being pursued through city streets by a D77 Pelican and a pair of M12 Warthogs. They weren't firing to avoid hitting civilians on the streets (and a machine gun burst in an urban area leads to civilian casualties, which is undesirable), but the bus was clearly moving toward the administration building. And it was rigged with explosives. But we have a Plan (tm).
"Sauron to Kilo-Five, five minutes to Mount Doom."
Hearing this, Kilo-Five made a remark to the hologram:
"I don't like feeling like I don't understand my opponent's words, Tomoko."
My Possessed in the form of a hologram only bowed:
"I understand, my lady. What can I do for you?"
The Spartan exhaled.
"When you were turned over to me, Tomoko, I thought it was a reward. I'm not so sure anymore."
Well, "turned over" is an overstatement. Out of a dozen and a half Possessed, Serin Osman received exactly two. And there's also a hologram projector through which Margaret Parangosky monitors her subordinate. So my boss's statements are somewhat exaggerated.
"Forgive me, my lady, this servant is trying to please you; she is to blame for failing," the hologram said, its entire appearance demonstrating remorse.
The woman exhaled but didn't continue.
"Fine. Start the 'flight'."
"The Eagles are on their way."
The hologram ignored the woman's sigh-growl. The D77 Pelican, piloted by the Possessed, went into a dive, dropping toward the bus. The craft streaked between buildings, coming in over the terrorists' transport from above so they wouldn't notice too soon. How people hate looking up. The ship hovered over the bus, and only then was it noticed. The driver tried to swerve, but it was too late.
"Launching gravity capture. Active."
Immediately, the D77 Pelican began to rise with a jerk, preventing the people in the bus from reacting.
"Ten meters. Fifteen."
That was the plan. Snatch the vehicle and lift it into the air with acceleration, where the damage from a detonation would be minimal. The acceleration would prevent them from reacting in time; if we could achieve enough G-force to make the bus occupants lose consciousness, even better. For this, the D77 Pelican pilot is a Possessed, and the vehicle's mass is further modified by element zero.
The D77 Pelican went into a shallow bank and, engines humming, soared upward at an angle of about forty degrees. But that wasn't all.
"Mass increase module deployed."
Now the question was what the people in the bus were feeling and whether they would blow it up or not. The module would increase the mass of the people in the bus, further worsening their condition during the maneuvers. The main thing was not to overdo it, so as not to accidentally trigger the explosives. Ideally, the terrorists should be incapacitated enough not to think about blowing themselves up, but healthy enough for the hostages not to die. And the maneuvering had to be careful so the bus wouldn't fall apart under its own increased weight and passengers wouldn't fly out of the windows. That's what the mass increase device was for. With it, I can fly level, and the G-forces will still be felt as they are.
The vehicle had already risen to the level of the tenth floors; the bus still hadn't exploded. Of course, ideally, the passengers should be saved, but the primary task is to thwart the terrorist attack. If these heroic suicides realize that an explosion won't help them, solving the issue will be easier.
"Eagle reports: we are flying high, the terrorists are not exploding. Moving to the stadium."
Another idea—land the bus in an empty stadium, where an explosion wouldn't cause serious destruction, there would be no spectators with cameras, and it wouldn't go anywhere. And yes, we are improvising.
The D77 Pelican caught up with an assault helicopter. It held a position a hundred meters to the right, on a parallel course. A former ODST, now an ONI operative, Staff Sergeant Malcolm Griffin, reported:
"Falcon-02 to Kilo-Five. Confirming the hen's stability. One minute to the point."
The D77 Pelican flew over the city, hovered over the stadium, and carefully released the bus. A capture team was already waiting there. A grayish stream hit the vehicle from a sprayer installed right there.
"Gas is away, take off."
The ship surged into the sky while the shock troopers neutralized the dazed terrorists.
"They have Citadel weapons," an ODST soldier reported over the radio.
Just as we thought. Having obtained Covenant ships, certain groups of our "neighbors in the galaxy" began to pay visits, using Covenant maps. They didn't find Earth, but certain worlds on the periphery—yes. And through them, the weapons and equipment of the Council Races fall into the hands of rebels. In a way, it's literally what we were doing with the Hegemony, but in reverse.
Except, unlike the Hegemony, the rebels aren't an oppressed minority. They are cold-blooded executioners, ready to cause any harm in the name of anarchy and destabilization.
So the attitude toward these individuals in society is mixed. Even compared to ONI. But among the poor, among the residents of megapolises, the lowest of the low, consumed by cybernetics, crime, and substances, these organizations find plenty of new recruits.
The Citadel government is another matter. Trade has more or less been established with them. Both factions keep the situation quiet; formally, we are still in a cold war. But we sell and buy seaweed for Medi-gel and some developments. Quite officially, even with the Turians through the Volus. Business loves silence, and everyone understands that.
The D77 Pelican hovers at a safe distance, aiming its machine gun at the bus while the people work. The hologram reports to the admiral.
"This group also has Citadel weapons. Asari and Turian rifles and pistols. The leader even has partial armor."
The admiral tapped her finger thoughtfully on the table.
"Expected. What about casualties?"
"Six hostages in serious condition. The G-force negatively affected their bodies; one had cybernetics tear through flesh, extensive bleeding, and there are two with heart attacks. Otherwise—it went well. They likely didn't expect this."
Margaret Parangosky nodded.
"Finish up and return to New Venice. Perhaps we can shut down the weapons supply channel from the other side of the galaxy."
Obviously, this is a major problem. The rebels, who had been experiencing huge supply problems, contacted the Cerberus organization about two years ago, which solved at least part of their problems. With supplies, with training, and with cheap and effective weapons.
Two years ago, the rebels carried out a massive strike on a military academy, broke in, killed fifty people in combat alone, and detonated a nuclear charge over one of the buildings. A small one, but they detonated it. And this "triumphant return" seriously strengthened their positions. No one expected the radicals to have such weapons and such capabilities. We missed the blow.
Yes, subsequent attacks proved much less successful, but the very first strike was the most noticeable. And the most unpleasant blow to our reputation. Command politely but firmly advised those who failed not to make such mistakes again and sent reinforcements. Us. And the Citadel Council was given a hint that either they restrain these rowdy ones themselves, or don't complain later. Since then, everything has been handled with extreme politeness. Cerberus, even though they supply the rebels and declare negativity toward humans, even handed over several of those responsible for using the bomb. As they said. Fanatics, yes. Naturally, these were scapegoats driven mad by chemicals, and we still gave the discovered Cerberus bases a fiery greeting, but the situation became somewhat more polite. Though not radically so.
As faster ships and response groups appear, the situation in the colonies is improving. Peace and technology are coming even to the current periphery. In theory.
The nuance is that the best equipment is primarily sent to larger colonies, where there is already a strong army and a large ONI contingent. And on the periphery, where more primitive ships are sent, a rebellion is gradually brewing. Furthermore, with the acquisition of simple Citadel transports, their mobility has increased. Rebels can build their bases on empty worlds within a radius of up to thirty light-years from a planet, train there, and then fly to populated ones for their dirty deeds. Which they do with pleasure. Simply wonderful.
And then there are Covenant raiders, at the very least. In short, the situation is complex. But solvable, in time. ONI will see to it that they all burn.
***
Read the story months before public release — early chapters are on my Patreon: https://www.patreon.com/Granulan