Illium, 2186 (Terran Calendar)
Illium. Either an eternally free cultural and mercantile jewel that shone bright amongst the darkest recesses of Terminus Systems, where restrictive boundaries are frowned upon and anything was possible, or a dangerous, unprincipled hellhole where backstabbing corporations freely run amok, trampling on their workers without a second thought while sedating them with every drug known to the species of the Galaxy, depending on who you asked. In my opinion, its definitely the latter. For the past two years however, Illium, and more specifically, its capital of Nos Astra had been the place where Gartak Kol'Serah, Captain of the Apocalypse Company mercenary company, and one of the founders as well, I came up with the name, had been calling home. What quality of a home it had been, and how much Gartak had actually really freely chosen to live there were up for debate, but a home it had been its still one of few places outside of the Terminus where my people aren't universally thought of as the biggest bunch of scum in the Galaxy. Such views are merely in the majority.
Gartak did have to admit to himself that, despite Nos Astra being a place where everyone looked at what you had with either contempt or envy, the main commercial street where he now found himself still had the ability to leave him with his mouth agape now and again. Tonight however, the sight of it filled him with unease. Main commercial streets were generally not the place to conduct shady information deals. Especially shady information deals that involve documents that shouldn't be seen by anyone other than a Spectre or the Citadel Council. Pulling his coat tighter to himself despite Illium's oppressive heat, he glanced down at his omni-tool. Showing an overhead projection of Nos Astra's commercial street, it beeped, as if Gartak had missed his turning. Glancing back into the oncoming wave of city workers clocking off for the night, Gartak caught the dark alleyway in the corner of his eye. Out of the sight of the main street and any prying eyes, while still not being as direct for prospective clients to get to as any bank or trade center. Obviously. Accidentally barging into an arrogant looking salarian, he turned into the alleyway, which snaked around the side of a trade center and into darkness. Gartak set off and walked down it, occasionally glancing over his shoulder to check whether he was being followed. Paranoia always pays off, as my paranoid Father always used to tell me.
Turning a corner around the back of what Gartak thought might now be the Daetera Banking Association, he saw a tall salarian, backed by two enormous bodyguards of indeterminable race, on account of their helmets. Either the salarian was his contact, or he'd just walked in on a completely different deal, and was about to be shot at and possibly killed. Always a possibility. Sending out a flash of light from his omni-tool, Gartak waited for the double flash of light back. Taking our time with the light, aren't we lads? Like to take some kind of pleasure in seeing me squirm, I don't fucking doubt? After what seemed like half an asari's lifespan, the salarian sent a double flash of light back. And thank the many eyed guardians of Khar'Shan for that.
Gartak walked over to them, keeping his top set of eyes focused on the bodyguards, the other set on the salarian. Hands clasped behind his back, the information broker nodded his head at Gartak, who attempted to adopt as neutral body language as he could, hands at his side in case this was in fact, a trap, an idea that seems to be more and more likely by the minute, and he needed to pull out a gun, and his mind somewhat hovering over the possibility of slapping them with a singularity and running off into the night. The salarian spoke first, his voice showing no trace of whether he was being serious or merely condescending,
"Mr. Kol'Serah, a pleasure to make your acquaintance tonight," he said You speak like this is a formal business meeting, and not the handover of some top secret and potentially explosive documents. For you then, I suppose this is.
"Likewise," Gartak replied, his own voice giving out as much emotion as a cheap VI personality. "I assume who have what I asked for?" The salarian snapped his fingers, and one of his bodyguards produced an OSD from the shadows and handed it to the information broker, who kept hold of it, eyes staring deep into Gartak's own eyes.
"Firstly, however, the Shadow Broker wants to know something himself. What are you going to do with the files?"
Gartak blinked in surprise. You fucking what?
"Unless I missed some bizarre regime change, The Shadow Broker doesn't normally ask questions of his clients," Gartak said assertively.
"Normally, the Broker's clients aren't batarian ex-mercenaries asking for top level security files that can only be seen by Spectres and the Citadel Council. You'll forgive him for a momentary change in policy," the salarian replied, voice nothing else if completely professional In the same way a bank officer would talk to a customer. So, the Broker thinks I'm a special case does he? I'm honoured. Gartak mulled over his reply.
"I'm going to read them," he eventually said. Before the salarian could open his mouth to object, Gartak went on, "If the Broker is as well-informed of me as I think he is, then he should know my policy. Like him, I've never played to a single side, always tried to keep neutral as possible, y'know? Fought for the Hegemony, fought for the Abolitionists. Fought for the Seperatists on Raesax, then turned 'em over to the Hierarchy for double the pay I was getting off them. Fought for Durgat Karr, then fought for Durgat Skorr," Gartak sighed. "Listen, the only agenda I've got is one for myself, and I owe it to that agenda to fill in the blanks about what happened three years ago on Kycora. Nothing else." The salarian considered this for a few seconds, before handing over the OSD. Gartak smiled pleasantly, and titled his head to the left. "Thank you," he said brightly. The salarian nodded back.
"Your custom is appreciated, Mr. Kol'Serah. We hope to trade with you again in the future, goodnight, sir," and with that, the salarian snapped his fingers again, and he and his two bodyguards turned away, and walked off into the darkness.
Letting his muscles relax, Gartak tucked the OSD into his coat and lit a cigarette. Taking a a long drag from it, he walked off into the much better lit streets of Nos Astra's commercial sector. As the hot rays of the sun flooded his body, Gartak found himself smiling slightly to himself. Sure, paying for these files may have practically cost him half of his fortune, and he wouldn't put it past the Broker to now assassinate him for some unknown reason. But he had answers now. Fucking expensive answers, sure but worth every credit. Time to start reading, time to get closure...