Sunday 27 October 2013

Infiltration - Part 1

The screen lit up.
"Yes?" the man said as he fastened black armour on to his body.
"You have a target," pointed out the mysterious voice who had connected to the computer terminal
several months ago, "Take her out."
"Affirmative," the man responded with the nod of his head, holstering a pistol at the same time, "I doubt I will be able to get in that close without being noticed. What do you suggest?"
The screen went dim for a moment.
"I suggest..." said the voice, "... Infiltration."


One Week After Tuchanka...

Thomson applied a canister of medigel to Emi's rapidly healing wound. He was starting to see the muscles in her leg knot together and the hole was getting smaller. He could no longer see straight through, one side had healed. Where the round had entered had not. But she was going to make a full recovery.
They had left the Krogan home-world on the Falcon. Bei had chosen to stay with them, and since there was only two Quarians and himself, the ship was once again completely sterile of all germs.
Thomson still kept in contact with Shepard. Apparently he was now taking care of a small uprising on Tuchanka, but it was fairly easy to deal with and he was only a few days away from peace once again.
Emi smiled at him, "... Thank you... I can't wait to see our kids again... I miss them..."
"... Unfortunately I can't go back yet," said Thomson, "I have to sort out that gang. I'll drop you off on the Citadel so you can take care of them."
"... And where will you go?" Emi asked, "You know nothing about them..."
Thomson smiled, "Trust me. There is one place in the galaxy which has a connection to every single organised crime. I'm going there."
"... Omega?"
He nodded, "Omega indeed."
"... You can't go alone," she said, "It's dangerous..."
"Don't worry," he grinned, "I've already sent for an Alliance Infiltration Team. We'll rendezvous in the docking bay. For a start it will be only recon work. No shooting involved."
"... Then I'm coming with you. The Citadel isn't meant for people who can't walk... I won't be able to get to the nursery, let alone look after our children... It'll be better for them to stay there. I'm hardly in a state for looking after myself and two children on top of that..."
"Emi, look... You were shot when you came with me. I'd really prefer it if you stayed on the Citadel."
"... We can compromise," she said, "I'll come with you but stay on the ship..."
Emi had also stayed in contact with Tali'Zorah, who was probably the only reason why she was alive. Doctors didn't know anything about Quarians because they had been rarely seen out of their suit. Thomson felt somewhat honoured to be one of only a handful of people to see them other than people of their own race.
He sighed. He really didn't want her to come. But he knew he'd miss her if he let her go. And she was right. She couldn't look after their children when she couldn't even walk. Coming with him was the only option.
"... Fine," he said, "But I'll initiate a full security lockdown. No one will be able to get in."
She nodded and smiled at him, as she hadn't fastened the glass to her helmet since they had returned to the sterile Falcon, "... Apart from you... I want you to get in..."
"I will come and see you several times a day," he promised, "And there's always videos you can watch."
"... You bought me the full set of books," Emi responded, "... I'll read them... I so far haven't even started the third book."
He kissed her, "I love you, Emi."
"I love you, too," she said with a smile. She moved her arms to the wheels of her wheelchair and moved herself closer to him.
Emi was ill. He could see it in her face. The hole in her suit and the fact that any germs had a good direct entrance to her blood stream meant that she was coughing and sneezing. She had a temperature, and her face was flushed a darker shade of purple than before.
It wasn't technically an illness, however. Although caused by germs, Quarians could only catch diseases from Turians as they were made of the same protein. What Emi was suffering from was most likely an allergic reaction to germs made of a different protein - perhaps a human, Krogan, Asari or Salarian one - when they had entered her blood.
At least the hole had been sealed, so there was no more risk.
Thomson embraced her when she came in his range. He had to lean down a lot to be at her level, but still.
Her head snuggled into his shoulder, "... You need to say a proper goodbye."
"Did I put too much medigel on again?" he grinned, knowing full well it wasn't the reason. Just to make fun of her.
She sighed, "... That wasn't my fault..."

A few hours later, Thomson went to the Combat Information Centre and checked on their progress to Omega. They would arrive in just a matter of minutes. He had already received a message from the Infiltration team regarding their whereabouts and anything of note. They were waiting for him in the docking bay.
Omega was controlled by gangs. Blood Pack, Blue Suns... just a few to name amongst the hundreds that roamed freely, killing anyone who got in their way.
That was the problem with Omega. It had no kind of official security force. Yes, there were some firms who would protect certain areas of the space station - for a price - but their loyalty couldn't be assured. Loyalty was not earned on Omega. It was bought.
Omega was built into an asteroid in the Terminus System. It was described as a place similar to the Citadel, but where sex, drugs and guns run the streets. If you're a nice guy, you don't set foot on Omega. Ever.
Despite several attempts from Cerberus, not even a pro-human military black ops group couldn't get a foothold inside without being shot up in some way.
As long as you had enough money to bribe whoever decided to take a disliking to you, always carried a firearm of some description and didn't accidentally sell yourself into slavery, it was possible to be fine. But the majority of people on the station were either mass murderers, exiles, gang members or warlords. So they were pretty much fine anyway.
The Falcon's autopilot slowed the ship down as it reached the docking bay, or what was used as one. A mechanical arm gripped the ship's wing and held it in place as the engines powered down.
Emi and Bei walked into the CIC as Thomson started to put on his armour and collect his weapons.
"If it's alright," said Bei, "I'm going to stay here with Emi. I have no intention of ever setting foot on Omega. I've heard what happens to Quarians who go there."
Thomson nodded, "That's fine. I won't be long. We're going to see a woman named Aria T'Loak. Apparently she runs all of Omega. All the gangs, everything. People call her 'The Pirate Queen'."
"And you're just going to walk up to her and ask for information?" Bei asked, "Seems... silly. Where even is she?"
"That's something I don't understand," Thomson responded, "Everyone knows where she is. She sits at a table in Afterlife, which is a club, surrounded by the most notorious criminal gang leaders and private security personnel. So no, we're not just going to walk up to her. We're going to sneak into Afterlife using tactical cloaks, take out her security and then threaten her until we have information. Or at least, that's the plan."
"... Be careful," said Emi, "Please be careful..."
"I will. I'll be back in a few hours, don't worry."

He left the Falcon and entered the docking bay, wearing full N7 armour, a breather helmet, and carrying a M-8 Avenger rifle. There were two Turian guards - almost definitely some sort of hired security - stationed on all the doors around the docking bay.
Unlike the clean, white room that greeted you on the Citadel, Omega so far seemed to be mostly brown with dirt and grime. The docking bay had no one in it apart from him.
"Very funny," he said to the air, "We arranged the rendezvous. I'm not stupid."
The air in front of him flickered white for a moment and nine Alliance soldiers appeared in front of him after deactivating their tactical cloaks. They carried a variety of weapons, from sub-machine guns to sniper rifles. The most common weapon of all seemed to be the M-7 Lancer.
The M-7 Lancer was an old weapon. Whereas with newer weapons, to keep on firing your weapon you had to eject a thermal clip and insert a new one to prevent your weapon from overheating, the M-7 Lancer relied on internal cooling systems. This meant, in theory, you could never run out of ammunition until the metal inside the weapon was chipped away. As long as you left it for a few moments, you could keep firing. It wasn't a bad weapon, but whereas reloading took only a few seconds with the M-8, you had to wait for the internal cooling system to return the gun to full capacity before firing again with the M-7, which took at least ten seconds. The Avenger was a lot more reliable.
The group of Infiltrators were wearing completely black armour. The visors of their helmets were tinted and there was not a single centimetre of skin showing. Not even their chins.
Thomson was handed a new helmet, which was alike to theirs, and a device that he attached to his mass effect shield generator. He thanked them, then took off his breather helmet and slid the black one into place.
Although the visor was tinted, he could see perfectly.
"So," said the soldier at the front of the group, "We're going to see Aria T'Loak?"
Thomson nodded, "Yes. We are. We need to keep our tactical cloaks on at all times."
"Affirmative," replied another soldier, and the entire squad vanished.
He did likewise a moment later.

The Infiltration Team moved to the entrance of Afterlife. There was a long line of people waiting outside to get in. And it wasn't just one race. Thomson could see Volus, small round aliens that wore suits to protect themselves from the hazardous air pressure that was so different to the one on their home planet, and Krogan - the large humanoid lizard-like creatures who were native to the planet Tuchanka. There were others too. Salarian, Vorcha, Turians... only a relatively few humans had entered so far.
There was a heavily armed Krogan guarding the entrance. Thomson had noted to the rest of the group that he appeared to be only letting people in once someone had left, to make sure there was the same amount of people in the club at any one time. The only chance they would have to get in would be to sneak past the Krogan and enter the club whilst someone was being let in and the doors were open.
From what he could gather from the murmurings in the long queue, most of which were from the native languages of the different species, Afterlife celebrated well... the afterlife. It was about doing as much as you wanted for as long as you wanted before you died, which, taking into account Omega's reputation, seemed rather appropriate.
However, since the people who generally were on Omega weren't exactly nice, the honesty of what they wanted to do couldn't be assured. Thomson knew from what his commander had once said during his training, at least one fight out broke out in Afterlife every single night. Killings in the club weren't uncommon.
That wasn't the most evil thing done in the club, however.
A Krogan wearing red armour exited the club, and the doorman gestured for the first in line, a Salarian, to enter.
"This is it," said Thomson into the communicator in their helmets, after deactivating the microphone that would make him audible to everyone, "This is our window. Make it count."
His helmet automatically detected the infiltration team as he moved towards the door. They appeared as glowing orange outlines as he looked at them.
The door slid open and the Salarian stepped through. Before it had closed, however, they were inside.
It was a long corridor. Flashing purple holograms were above them with "Afterlife" written in orange lettering. They followed the Salarian to the very end.
"Don't cause any trouble," said a Turian guard stationed just before the club opened up. The loud beating of drums was audible from the music inside the club.
"I won't," responded the Salarian, and stepped inside.
The volume of the music increased at least ten times. It hurt Thomson's ears, but it didn't stop him.
The way the club was arranged was somewhat odd. It appeared to be a circle around a central structure, and there was almost definitely more than one floor.
Barely clad Asari were dancing on the top of tables and some even were on the central structure. Several people were cheering at them.
One of the team handed him a Locust sub-machine gun. He fastened his rifle on to his back and kept the smaller weapon in hand. No matter how good he thought the Avenger was, it was too large for the enclosed space - especially considering they were trying not to arouse people's suspicion by knocking into them.
The group still followed the Salarian. He seemed to be leading them directly to Aria's table, which seemed to be at the highest point in the entire club.
As Thomson passed a Turian, it seemed, out of nowhere, he just punched a Krogan directly in the face. The bar he was sat at suddenly erupted into a fight, and pistols were drawn.
The group continued.
He could see several Krogan gathered around a table, which he presumed was Aria's. They were each wearing different coloured armour, which signified they were from different gangs. One even had the logo of a blue sun on his shoulder.
The group remained hidden as the Salarian stepped in front of the table.
"Aria," the Salarian said, "May I have a word?"
An Asari, who was the only person sat at the table, nodded, "Of course, Nuin. About what, exactly?"
"You see... The Red Dragons aren't happy with the way you have been denying their shipments of Red Sand..."
Red Sand was a drug. Thomson didn't know exactly what it contained, but he knew that it got you high and gave you slight biotic powers whilst you were under its effects. It was very valuable.
"You can tell the Red Dragons that unless they pay their entry fees," growled Aria, "I will be blocking their shipments for the foreseeable future."
"They said you'd say that," smiled the Salarian, and drew a pistol.
Before he could fire, however, Thomson had uncloaked and pointed his Locust at the Salarian's head.
"Thomson!" hissed one of the group via the communicator, "What on Earth are you doing?"
Thomson quickly activated the microphone on his helmet, "Don't move," he told the Salarian.
Aria laughed, "And who might you be?"
The Salarian was hit over the head by the heavy fist of a Krogan, and knocked unconscious. It hit the floor, but was picked up and taken away.
"I'm... looking for information," said Thomson, "And I know you're the one in charge around here."
"You didn't answer my question," Aria pointed out, "So why the fuck would I answer yours? What's to say I just won't kill you now and save myself some bother?"
The Infiltration Team deactivated their cloaks and came into view, aiming their weapons at her bodyguards.
"Do you need any more persuasion?" Thomson asked, raising his weapon at her, "So, will you answer my questions?"
"I normally don't take kindly to being threatened," she said, "But to be honest I'm rather impressed. This is the first time anyone has thought of using tactical cloaks to infiltrate this club and get to me unharmed. So, yes. I will."
"Thank you," responded Thomson. He sat down at the table with her, then began to talk, "I don't suppose you heard what happened on Tuchanka a week ago?"
Aria shook her head, "Should I have?"
"Well, yes. The last surviving Reaper was there," he explained, "I also battled someone who I thought I had killed twice already. A Cerberus operative, or he was. He claimed a gang had sold them the technology that allowed him to remotely pilot a body. People who had a wide knowledge of biology."
"And you thought I'd know about it?" Aria chuckled, "Trust me, if anything like that was happening here, I'd know."
"And that is why I came to you first. So, you don't know anything?"
"I know a gang who is good in biology. They're relatively new. Not under my control yet. But they're growing fast."
"And the technology?"
She shrugged, "I know nothing about that. They deal in trafficking. Specifically Quarians. They use Quarian women like currency and use the money they gain to expand and buy land."
"And as for the biology?"
She nodded, "They specialise in biological weapons, torture, cybernetics and weapons. Everything you need for conducting thorough experiments on those who get in their way."
"Do you know where they are?" Thomson asked.
"No... Wait. Yes, actually."
"Can I have their address?"
"You don't need one. They're downstairs."
A shot was fired, "Ladies, gentlemen and well... Asari, I wish to announce that the club is now under our control. Please help yourself to a face full of metal."
"Oh shit," said Thomson, "Tactical cloaks on!"

2 comments:

  1. One of my favourite songs is called Afterlife. :)

    Judging from what happened last time, I have a feeling Emi being with them isn't going to go well . . . Even if she's just on the ship.

    Brilliantly written, as always. :)

    Nice cliffhanger ending. :) Interested to see what happens next.

    I should probably work out which or your ME stories I like better than which, so I can tell you . . . because that might be useful to you, but I'm bad with favourites . . . :/

    #ChaseForBookNine

    ReplyDelete