Winning Peace - Chapter 46 (Patreon)

“Lopez!”

The voice that spoke up was full of grunting and growling tones to the point where it obviously came from an inhuman mouth. Still, my name was more than understandable enough even on an alien's tongue that, when I heard it, I turned to meet the head of the procession coming my way.

The imposing figure of a krogan in full combat armor complete with authentic battle damage, a ceremonial cape and sash, and a bladed staff-like weapon approached. The thundering advance of both himself and what were obviously an elite guard unit clustered around him, each carrying a weapon that would, for other races, fall under the category of 'crew-served' rather than 'infantry portable.'

Rael, nearby, shifted back a half-step at the sight of the procession, instantly acknowledging that they could turn him into roadkill without even noticing should they be inclined to do so.

Tali, who had been hovering by my side ever since we'd arrived, squeaked and took a step to the side, placing herself halfway behind me.

Such a feet was only possible because of their armor, I knew. It was the absolute pinnacle of turian engineering and krogan ruggidization. It very much wasn't public knowledge, but there was also more than a bit of asari and salarian technology shoved into them that had either been stolen and reverse-engineered or purchased at extreme markup through back-channels from the corporate overlords of Illium or the agents of the Shadow Broker.

The latter of which had, for some reason, decided to stage a fire sale of advanced technology for the Hierarchy and the Free Clans.

Even the highly sought-after designs of stolen Prothean Empire tech were being offered at cut-rate prices for the embattled turians and krogans.

It was all very mysterious and had their intelligence organizations, as well as the STG and Specters all abuzz with speculation that a deal had been struck deep in the backrooms of the halls of power.

But it's so worth it to see the batarians practically frothing at the mouth trying to put out the constant brush fires they're having to deal with.

“You're smaller than I thought you'd be,” the krogan grunted as he finally stood before me. Then he snorted and extended his hand. “Urdnot Wrex. Battlemaster of Clan Urdnot and Warleader of the Free Clans.”

“Ezekiel Lopez,” I replied, catching the alien's armored forearm in my hand. “Doctor, Scientist, Former Minister of Science and Technology, and currently Ambassador of Note to the Turian Hierarchy and the Free Krogan Clans.”

Our eyes met, smiles (or what passed for it on krogans) on our faces as we assessed each other.

He squeezed hard enough to leave a bruise on a baseline human, those being not much more durable than your average turian.

I squeezed hard enough that the armor on his forearm began to creak and groan.

The vigilant krogan guard unit, the turian delegation, and their guard units all slowly turned towards the low-level sound of tortured ceramic-metal compounds, the room atmosphere around the spaceport dock suddenly stilling.

The right side of my lip quirked upwards. “We can keep going if you like, but I'm reaching the breaking point for stresses your armor is rated to take.”

Wrex's hand, covered in a gauntlet as it was, had wrapped entirely around my comparatively small wrist. Despite that, he was quick to release and withdraw as his visible surprise flashed to a look of impressed satisfaction. “Good, you're tougher than you look. I'd hate to put the person saving my species in traction.”

“And I'd hate to put the leader of another space-faring polity there as well. I probably can't get away with starting a second interstellar war,” I shrugged.

Wrex threw his head back as much as the krogan body was able to as he laughed loudly, then planted his massive armored hand on my shoulder with a speed and force that would have sent even an enhanced human to their knees, if not the ground entirely. “That's the spirit! We'll make an honorary krogan out of you yet! Don't take what the blue four-eyed bastards did personally. It's just how they say hello.”

“To people they think they can conquer, at least,” the turian officer at the head of her delegation commented dryly. “Greetings, Warlord Urdnot. I am Sidoria Murion, senior officer of the Hierarchy's diplomatic corps.”

Wrex grunted and nodded. “I remember you. You were on that treaty renewal ceremony thirty years ago. Little sprog of a greenhorn.”

The female turian blinked, her head jerking as one or two of her attaches shifted uneasily. Turians couldn't blush, notably, but their face plates made a very specific motion when they did so. “I, ah... didn't think you would remember me.”

“Had a special program written up,” he gestured with the arm I hadn't gripped, showing off the heavily-reinforced omnitool. “Bakara kept flying into a rage when I couldn't remember diplomats’ names.”

“I-I see,” Sidoria mumbled.

Wrex turned to the quarians behind me. “Been a long time since I've seen your kind. What are you suits doing on this side of the Empire? And with your flashlight-heads? Thought that was against Citadel law.”

Rael cleared his throat, stepping up after glancing at the geth bodyguard units and seeing that they hadn't deployed weaponry. “Geth units are banned from all private and public properties within Citadel space, but our vessel is sovereign Federation territory.”

“And the Hierarchy is much more accommodating than the Citadel powers are,” Sidoria rallied valiantly. “Rael'Zorah was undertaking an evaluation of human customs and technology to determine whether a full diplomatic team will be dispatched from Rannoch to establish closer ties between the Alliance and the Federation.”

The ancient krogan's eyes turned sly as he cut me a glance, nodding. “Sounds like politics, and that's something I can't stand.”

“Then why are you here, Warlord Urdnot? If it's not for politics?” Rael asked, his tone neutral.

Wrex jerked his head at me. “Cause a' him. Someone saves your species, you at least show up to take his measure.”

“The cure for the genophage,” I nodded. “Have you decided which version you'll use?”

Wrex grimaced. “Got a lot of battlemasters and shamans arguing about it now. Probably end up with a few less of the old assholes before I put my foot down.”

I nodded. Despite what I'd said to Aethyta, there was some truth to the accusations of the krogan being unable and unwilling to control their massive birthrate. It was just equally true that asari and salarian policy towards krogan settlement worlds had exacerbated the problem by providing inadequate agri-worlds to suit their growing population, as well as sub-par crops that produced lower yields instead of the high-end genetically-engineered strains they'd cultivated for their own civilizations. There was also, of course, the fact that the Citadel had seen the krogans as weapons first and foremost. They hadn't needed the trappings of civilization and society to kill bugs.

So, yes, the krogan had earned their fair share of the blame for the situation.

But it could simultaneously be true that neither the asari nor the salarians had attempted to find a middle-ground in earnest before the problem became too much to deal with. Hell, even sending krogan warbands to conquer the Terminus would have bought them a few centuries.

Instead, they'd inflicted the genophage on the krogan and traumatized their entire species.

But, they hadn't gotten all of them. A few females had been off Tuchanka when it'd been bombed with the virus. Those lineages had become the Free Clans.

And they, in response, had dropped a KT Extinction-Sized Asteroid on Sur'Kesh.

Ninety percent of the population of the salarian homeworld died in the ensuing days, coming to a total of fifty billion of the species vanishing from the galaxy practically overnight.

After that, the gloves really came off.

“Plus, wanted to let Lopez know something.” Wrex turned back to me, a serious look in his eyes. “Those rachni you've got? They go rabid, you call us and we'll pull your asses out of the fire. Won't even charge you. Much.”

I chuckled. “I think we've got things under control, but I'll keep your offer in mind.”

“Uhh... excuse me?” Tali asked, stepping out from behind me. “What do you mean, charge? I thought the krogan Free Clans weren't, well...”

Wrex snorted, looking down at the much smaller alien. “Let me guess, the only krogans you've seen are those pyjak, vorcha-brained idiots running around in merc groups in the lawless reaches of the Terminus. Which means us respectable members of society are probably just like the rest of the galaxy with governments and laws and society and that sort of thing, right?”

Tali nodded mutely, but before Wrex could reply, I interrupted.

Clearing my throat, I decided to impart a little historical anecdote. “About two and half centuries before humanity achieved primitive spaceflight, there existed a kingdom known as 'Prussia.' One of our greatest writers, philosophers, satirists, and historians of the time wrote thusly of it: 'Where some states have an army, the Prussian army has a state.' The Free Krogan Clans take it a step further. In effect, they are an army without a state and, when they find they need one, they borrow the state apparatuses from the Turian Hierarchy.”

“I don't think I've ever heard it put quite so succinctly,” Sidoria chuckled in the brief silence of consideration that followed.

“More like a whole bunch of armies that sometimes fight each other, but you got most of it right, Lopez.” Wrex nodded with a too-sharp grin. “Even if you didn't save my species, I think I'd like you.”

“B-but!” Tali spoke up again, her eyes wide. “H-how do you manage things like healthcare and research and development and social aid programs? All of those require a government!”

Rael sighed and patted his daughter on the shoulder as Wrex laughed. “Daughter, the Free Krogran see that as the responsibility of the Clan Leaders, Battlemasters, and the War Leader to procure. This is why their partnership with the turians is so profitable on both sides. For the krogans, it frees up personnel from worrying about concerns that do not directly relate to combat or war. For the turians, it allows them to put more of their armed forces in back-line logistical roles that keep their slower-growing population stable during protracted conflicts as well as focus on force-multiplying strategy and technologies.”

“They fight smarter, we fight harder,” Wrex stated, pounding one fist into the palm of the other.

There was a low rumble of agreement from the elite guard unit behind Wrex.

I opened my mouth to shift the topic, when two figures came sprinting down the corridor to the private reception area of the spaceport. One was obviously a turian in his own advanced armor while the other was a krogan in a very different style of armor. Both of them, though, enjoyed the same color scheme: base white with blue emblems and gold tracery.

“Senior Diplomatic Officer Sidoria! You're hereby ordered to move the VIPs to a secure location. Our office has received intelligence that this location has been compromised and an attack may be incoming at any moment,” the turian cried as he ran, making a flicking motions against his omnitool before deploying a set of drones.

“We'll cover your retreat. Please evacuate to the waiting armored transport-”

Then energy fire buzzed through the space.

Well, I lie. The pulses of plasma buzzed around the space.

I turned towards the slightest perturbation of the visual spectrum, just the barest hint of a distortion in the air towards the gantry of the covered dock where my own craft now sat docked planet side. It was the obvious direction to stage an attack from, given the number of entry points available when the area had been open for a craft to taxi into.

Meanwhile, Rael tugged his daughter behind him as the geth took up firing positions between them and the calculated origin point of the plasma fire. I had to give the STG this at least, for all that they weren't on my level, their stealth wasn't half-bad. Oh, it wouldn't stand up even to the stuff I'd released to the Sol Council back in the day, but it was impressive in its own way.

“Dr. Lopez! Get down! My soldiers will cover you!” Sidoria cried, the turian troopers fanning out in front of me and trying to push me along.

Trying.

I rolled my eyes as the continually-intensifying volleys of fire kept curving around out little assemblage, even as the krogans and geth returned fire with gusto. Which, given my perception of time, I took a moment to appreciate. Turians, geth, and krogans defending diplomatic envoys of the quarians and humanity.

Side by side.

“We're perfectly fine,” I assured her, my voice cutting through the cacophony of shouts, cries, and heavy ordinance like a hot knife through butter. The push of the turian soldiers against me, trying to manhandle me into safety grew stronger as three of them added their full body weight against me. “Here, watch.”

I waved my hand and the cloaking tech on the opposing side shorted out, revealing a dozen heavily-armed soldiers with a krogan body-plan. Newfound visibility didn't seem to deter our assailants, as their fire only kept streaming downrange. Tellingly, two smaller individuals in very different armor were crouched behind three of the hulking soldiers as they continued to fire. Now visible, though, they started to take much more concentrated bursts of fire from our side, their forms lighting up as shields of some type flared into existence with each impact.

Then their guns and shields cut out.

Which was a neat trick, because the STG were at least smart enough to make their own weapons air gapped to a certain extent. Oh, there was a personal squad-net I could see and manipulate, and the visuals from the guns' sights were being fed through it back to their handlers along with a host of other targeting data. But the actual ability of the guns to fire wasn't networked. Again, that was impressive in a vacuum, especially for a species that prided itself on defining the bleeding edge of technological dominance.

Then again, this was a galaxy where the geth were politically active (to some definition of the word 'active') in conjunction with the quarians.

There was a moment of shock when the enemy squad stopped throwing out bursts of plasma fire and began taking real damage, but essentially everyone involved on our side were trained soldiers and just kept firing.

Which was when the krogans in salarian-made armor began to charge at us.

Only to be cut down as our own krogan defenders lead a counter-charge, their sealed helmets magnifying their battlecries as they rang out.

Meanwhile, I began hearing interesting things over a certain black ops comm link.

'MISSION FAILURE! REPEAT: MISSION FAILURE! BIO-DRONES NOT DETONATING! AUTHORIZE TERTIARY TACTICS!'

'Tertiary Tactics' in this case, likely referred to the trio of salarian stealth frigates in high orbit and their various ship-mounted cannons. In terms of firepower, it barely even rated against the wider galaxy's ever-more-exotic array of deadly artillery. Of course, that didn't mean much when your target was a relatively soft one. Even if the spaceport we were currently within was built to turian design specifications and, by default, a military installation with its own large-scale bombardment defensive barrier, it was still well behind the lines and this meeting had been ostensibly secret.

But that dastardly Shadow Broker found out about it somehow! And their supposed neutrality meant that they were willing to sell the information right to the Salarian Union! Curses! There was no way our dashing hero would be prepared against such a formidable ambush!

So the STG had brought more than enough specialized weaponry to bypass the kinetic barriers enshrouding the spaceport should it become necessary.

Which fit with the salarians' MO.

Again, say what you will, but the frog-eyed bastards were thorough. A kill team armed with energy weapons as a first wave, bombs inside the disposable 'bio-drones' to be detonated as both a secondary measure and a method to clean the scene up, and then a bombardment strategy. Hell, they probably didn't even think they'd need plans four through eight, but they existed.

Also, they were inoperable.

I yawned as the two salarians tried to activate their suicide equipment, only for it to fail as well. Regrettably, while the poison capsules were analog and thus not able to be hacked, they were mixed and dispensed by a digital system that could be. But that would require infiltration of their isolated systems to a degree which not even the geth could reliably do. STG systems especially were routinely reconstructed entirely from new parts in off-grid facilities that were, themselves, air-gapped completely and had shipments sealed of deactivated electronics shipped in multi-layer Faraday cages.

Truly, the Union was the house paranoia built.

It was just a damn shame they hadn't realized the revolutionary new foundation material being introduced across Citadel space could be used as an interface surface for fifth-dimensional quantum gateways that bypassed conventional space.

Now THAT'S what I call 'thinking with portals.'

I chuckled to myself as the mayhem of the moment began to wind down.

“What the fuck was that?!” Wrex shouted, his helmet retracting itself as he looked around, before pinning Sidoria with a fierce look, then shifting to the newcomers wearing white-blue-gold armor. “You two! I want answers! This was supposed to be a secure meeting!”

The turian half of the team removed his own helmet. “You have our deepest apologies, War Leader Urdnot. Our office was only alerted to the possibility of an information leak within the last hour. We had to scramble a team to get here as fast as we could given the potentially-compromised nature of normal communications.”

“D-dad, is everything going to be alright?” Tali, more than a bit shell-shocked as she stared wide-eyed at the destruction of our surroundings. “W-who are they?”

“Those are the Hierarchy and Free Clan's answer to the STG and Specters,” Rael stated, visibly more put-together than his daughter as he stood more cautiously, alert for further danger. “The term doesn't translate well, but it's something along the lines of 'Powerful Ancient Spirits' in our language.”

“My translation matrix actually picked the word-” I began, only to be interrupted by the krogan in blue, white, and gold armor.

“Dr. Lopez, I'm sorry, but we need to move you now before another strike team can hit us. I'm Agent Atak Droyas of the Archangel Initiative and this is my partner, Saren Arterius.”

~~~

So, this was meant to be out over a day ago, but Monday was a dumpster fire that collapsed into a black hole from which no light or hope could possibly escape from. Thankfully, the plumbing issue is fixed, but for some reason the internet is cutting off at about 9PM every night and stays out until 9AM, so I have a call to make to yell at people now.

Please enjoy, this was written under adverse conditions and if anyone says significant changes need to be made, I am open to revisions.

Next update will probably be something easy and low-stress. Possibly another Hand We're Dealt or Where Your God Is. Those usually come pretty easy.

I hope everyone is having a better week than me. Literally everyone. It's only Tuesday and I already wanna' see the weekend get here.