As the building slowly crumbled around them, Vortag strode towards the door with all the calm dignity of a visiting diplomat. Jack followed in the wake of the huge strides Vortag made, the human searching the area behind them for any targets -- paranoid that a few slavers that might have hid during the crescendo of the fighting would now be wanting to leave, but no targets presented themselves, just knocked over chairs, tables and scattered playing cards. Jack was thankful for the distraction the Adaris Files offered, his mind was fixed on the files - and all the ramifications of them - and that helped to fight off the chilling numbness.
It was still raining when the pair left the building -- it always was on this planet. Their boots sunk into mud deep enough to swim through, their armor was immediately soaked and the rain ran between armor and skin in the few places it didn't completely protect -- like the joint of arm and elbow.
Jack did not see it, but he heard the pained cry and plea for help. Ahead of him, Vortag racked the action on his shotgun with one hand, before grasping the grip with the other and pointing it right into the wounded slaver's cracked and battered chest plate. He never saw it, but Jack heard the shotgun roar one last time and heard the slaver's final screams - even over the monstrous boom of the menacing firearm - and he also saw what was left in it's wake. A slaver that had taken multiple bullet impacts to the front of his armor had been crawling away from the battle, pulling himself through the muck despite life threatening injuries that would have put a weaker or less determined man down for the count. The front of the man's armor was just sheared from his body, like a can opener had ripped through a man-sized can of baked beans -- and that's almost what the steaming blood and pulsating organs opened to the rain looked like. Vortag didn't have time to take prisoners -- that wasn't his people's way.
As Jack and Vortag neared, the shuttle pilot began the final preparation for take off. He madly worked the pair of free standing displays upon the hovercraft's dashboard as the pair slogged towards them. The craft lifted a few inches off the ground and sat there for a long moment, as the engines finally kicked in and powered the drop ship's thrusters and the pilot gently pulled up on the controls.
ODS 3 lurched violently to the side as Vortag climbed in, his massive frame upsetting the craft's balance momentarily. He shook the rain from his armor, like a dog after having swam in a pool as soon as he was inside, splattering a few of the surrounding crewman -- not that any of them noticed, as every single being aboard that craft was soaking wet. Vortag stomped up to the cockpit and stepped inside as Jack turned from the now collapsed building and pulled himself on board.
Too tired to care where he sat, Jack just sank into the nearest seat and finally let go of The Rampart, letting it lean against the side of his leg as he pinched the bridge of his nose to ward off the drowsiness that came upon him the moment they were safe -- combat tired even the strongest humans out and Jack was not in the best of mental health to begin with. He banged three times in quick succession on the door to the cockpit to let the pilot know that everyone was in.
ODS 3 pulled itself from the mud and grime as easily as a knife through hot butter. It wavered a moment as the forward engines powered on, before it shot off into the sky behind it's two siblings -- headed home.
With the battle clarity quickly fading, Jack had to put his mind on other things, focus on his work to stop himself from going numb again, or worse.
Aboard the Void's Warden
"Councilor," Commander Wentworth stood in the comm room, looking into a display. On the display, a distinguished looking man with a hooked nose and graying strands of hair that were beginning to retreat from his hairline looked at Wentworth. He stood with his hands behind his back and looked at the Commander with a mixture of hope and dread, on one hand he hoped Operation: Saving Grace was a success, and on the other it was a harsh irony to hope that people arein slavery so you can rescue them. "We've recovered some" Commander Wentworth paused as he tried to put the right words to the events, a hand strayed up to the side of his face and he scratched the stubble that remained there unconsciously "damning data."
Councilor Kevin Fowler looked right into the Commander's eyes through the video connection "What kind of data do you mean, Commander?" Councilor Kevin Fowler was the oldest and most respected of humanities representatives in The Collective, harsh but fair, the man was a staunch humanist, fighting tirelessly to try and put humanity on top of the other Collective races. Willing to do anything it took to cement humanity's place in the galaxy, Fowler was a man to both respect and fear -- despite his age and deteriorating health. He personally owned an army cold hearted mercenaries who did his work for him, hidden among the various classes, work spaces and branches of Eroes Prime.
"This data is clear evidence that Collective Vanguard Adaris is not just allowing, but personally profiting from slave trades in outlying space." Wentworth rasped, as he placed a hand upon the desk he stood before "If this information ever got out, it could be politically harmful to the other races."
"And make a power vacuum from those ousted who had knowledge. Forward me the data." Fowler commanded, and a moment later a Tight Beam Communication arrived at his terminal, with all of the data recovered from the collapsed remnants of Building 3. The Councilor watched all them before turning back to face Commander Wentworth - a huge smile on his face - "This is the best news I've received all day. When the men who gathered this information arrive tell them they have helped their race innumerably this day."
The skipper of the Void's Warden went white as a sheet, as he realized the Councilor was unaware of the Collective Planetary Combat Command's integration program.
He turned another shade paler when the Councilor spoke again "Where is this data stored, Commander? I will send a team to officially recover it immediately."
Wentworth stammered out a few incoherent lines before setting his jaw and taking a deep, steadying breath. "The building and terminal was rigged to go down after unauthorized access, Councilor the crew barely made it out on time."
"Problematic."
"You might not know it, Councilor, but the Void's Warden is a test subject." Wentworth began, if there was any blood left in his face he might have turned red with embarrassment, but as it is he just looked down to his shoes and closed his eyes "Mixed crews, Councilor. Those men who recovered the data include a Vortag, Kriken, Sicariun and a small group of humans who aren't much better."
Councilor Fowler got a pained expression in his eyes and steepled his hands in front of his face as the mental gears that kept him in power for so long churned at a maddening speed. He drummed his fingertips together for what seemed like an eternity, before nodding to himself and looking back to Wentworth "Humanity's grasp of power in the Galaxy is limited, Commander. Do you want to help your entire race?"
"Yes, sir."
Councilor Fowler inclined his head in respect to Wentworth "Then here's what you must do."
ODS 3
"How many did we loose?" Frank asked the pilot, as he rolled the cockpit doors open.
Indeed, the sight of the dead man sitting in the seat, his head bent backwards on his neck at an unnatural angle had been unnerving to everyone. His mouth was agape in his final cry of fear and pain and his eyes still remained open.
The pilot throttled ODS 3 into formation with the other two drop ships and linked the drop ship with the navigation units aboard ODS 1 and 2 before replying "Too many," he called back into the craft's belly "we only lost him. ODS 1 and 2 both lost four crew. They had the worst of the fighting, their jobs were to make sure you guys survived to get into Building 3. I hope whatever you found in there was worth the cost. There will be lots of crying widows this day, when they get the news Tight Beamed to them."
That last sentence struck Jack off guard. He had been harshly and clinically examining the battle and it's results -- labeling it an overall success. Data recovered, slavers shut down, buildings demolished, but mentioning the price of such a thing pulled Jack's mind out of the battle, startled him from the drowsy cloud he'd been hiding in. He berathed in deeply and sat forward in his seat, tearing the helmet off his head and sitting it on the floor -- letting it roll away. Jack put his head in his hands and tried to hide the pained expression on his face behind his hands, as the Orbital Drop Ships made their way home.