"Amonkira, Lord of Hunters."
They always started like this. The wicked must be put to rest.
Grant that my hands be steady, my aim true, and my feet swift.
He was the acknowledged master of his craft.
And should the worst come to pass … grant me forgiveness.
Before….
The two-legged ones wandered, some goal evident in their mind if not in their bodies. They followed the easy paths like water, eschewing the more difficult trails that fed the soul. They deserved pity for their limitations; not because they were limited, but that they did not allow themselves to perceive their limits.
Glistening heights, calm winds, brushing his scales like an old friends' greeting.
Drop off ahead … their shifts warned … we strengthen the higher we fly.
The faint tang of ozone alerted part of him about the seeing-eye-warning-cry. Another part coldly noted the model number of the surveillance camera, recalling the exact weak points for this type.
Corner gusts soon … the messages on his skin warned … dawn comes, begone soon.
In perfect harmony, his other half drew a silenced Predator. One shot severed the power wire, the second tilted the lens itself, in case of a backup power supply.
Blushing sky, greeting the dawn … Hurry son-of-the-sand!
Unrushed, always moving, he found the tunnel. His hands molded to the walls, the microscopic scales catching the smallest of blemishes, propelling his body ever upward.
Skitter … squeak ….
Perfect reflexes impale a curious creature on a narrow blade. Regret colored the world light blue, he was not hungry, but could risk no alert.
Mother of Oceans, accept this one to your halls. Forgive my need, haste guides my steps.
Faster now, the tunnel proceeded ahead to show daylight in an unnatural opening. Horizontal slats barred the dawn from fully embracing his cave. Mind-twist here and here, years of practice and perfect memory honing the alteration of the universe to a small pinprick.
The bars coil aside without complaint, their purpose here is at an end.
His breathing slows, this was his goal. The two-legged ones do not wander below, no they walk with purpose. Their minds perceive others and wish to be seen. Coloration varies, intra-species competition vying for dominance.
There.
Walking with self-importance, the stalk of an animal that knows its place. He rules, and he knows it, wishing to flaunt his power to others. This is the life he has been asked to end.
The two-legged ones purposeful manner makes them predictable. Speed is set, direction is obvious. No one diverges from the common-trod path, always staying on the route others made for them. It gives them security; it makes them vulnerable.
The rifle whispers open, painstakingly fitted and enhanced for silence. He knows. He made the modifications himself. His eye takes in the scene, no collateral damage is allowed, no harm to those who live. He who is to die does not count; he left his life behind already, all that must be done is to claim it.
The target laser sparkles, barely visible in the crimson dawn. The timing is perfect; his own eyes are adapted to see the unseen-light, the better to speak with his friend-employer-benefactor. The tiny spot flares like a sparkling diamond.
Then … something new on the spring wind…a hint of spice. Another drell?
The diamond becomes incandescent on emerald scales, darker than his own. Her body trembles in indignation. He feels fear, Arashu the Protector? For his target?
Twin red suns of defiance, reflecting the sky, staring straight through the scope. Her lips move.
How. Dare. You.
After…
He recoiled in shock, scope leaving the target. In three-hundred and seventy-five hunts, such a situation had never happened before. Cautiously, he tilted one of his knives, angling to reflect the scene below.
She was still staring at the small opening above, glaring defiance. The turian stumbled sideways. Just as he was about to tell off the rude drell, she turned to fix her gaze on him, a dreadful knowing stare.
The turian apologized for his clumsiness, although he obviously knew she deliberately ran into him. Quickly, he turned into his door, feeling the reassuring weight of profit inside his jacket. Soon, he forgot about the insane drell outside … except in his nightmares.
Thane collapsed his rifle. What happened? Where am I?
Metal walls surrounded him, close on every side. He could recall … vaguely … clambering into the vent, but why? He looked down again, and saw her walking away. She walked with the fire of righteous fury emanating to those with the eyes to see it.
He had to follow.
Two weeks after …
Thane did not dare to show himself to her ... to Irikah. By now he was certain she was not the goddess, but she was a worthy disciple.
Yet, he could not convince himself to stay away. In the odd hours he rested, the memory repeated itself in his mind … each time he was shaken by her courage and confidence. By her fury.
That in and of itself was troubling. He had fallen into his Battle Sleep when he had achieved the age of majority; his handlers had acknowledged it and accepted his actions. He was the best in his business, and well compensated for it as well. All responsibility for his actions lay with those who paid for them.
Of course, as he thought about it, he realized he'd never really used what he had earned. Oh there had been the occasional weapon purchase, he'd splurged on a few mods at times, and it had been a point of business to pay his informants well. But he'd never actually needed funds; he'd only accepted them because it pleased his employer-friend.
Now … perhaps he'd use them.
First on the list was something slightly less utilitarian. He couldn't bring himself to purchase something purely decadent, but increasing his wardrobe with something that both protected and allowed movement in public was advisable. He'd always trained to blend; he'd once wandered the Citadel Presidium in full battle armor with no questions asked. Now he'd use those skills for something other than death.
Second, a query to several contacts on current fashion. Well paid as his people were, they asked no questions … even if they did raise a few brows.
Third, and most importantly, a call to his handler.
"This one is proud to greet you, how may this one be of service?"
Thane bowed to his friend-employer. Observes-Those-Who-Harm was a good friend, and had often given him good advice.
"I wish to thank you for diverting my assignment. My trouble has not departed … and I wish to request a leave of absence to consider my options."
The hanar sparkled a worried tinge. "This one requests clarification. Do you require extraction?"
"No, I am fine, although I am honored by your concern."
"Ahh. Then this trouble is of a nonviolent nature?"
Thane kept his eyes very still. Hanar were highly capable of reading other species less-obvious tells, although the major ones often escaped them.
"Yes, although I would prefer to not speak of it at this time."
The hanar bobbed slowly, considering. "You have put your personal affairs on hold for the Primacy many times, Thane Krios. Take as much time as you need. Call this one if you need aid."
"I thank you." Thane bowed low from the waist. Such trust, even to sharing a Soul Name, honored him. He felt a thrill he realized he hadn't felt in a long time … years perhaps.
Three Weeks After…
He shadowed Irikah. Learning who she was, where she lived. That was simple; she was a secretary-handsman for a hanar affiliate. It was her task to serve as the hands and mouth of a hanar to other bipedal species. It was a task of responsibility, given only to the most trustworthy people. Thane was not surprised.
The greatest question he faced was what to do about the situation. Ordinarily, he would mark the target as slightly more difficult and remove it when out of range of assistance. Or with. It didn't really matter; he didn't care what others thought.
But now…Thane knew he had a clear path to his initial target; Irikah never associated with him. But he found himself drawn to her, watching her every move as assiduously as if he were training again. She knew something he did not, but he didn't know what.
She was clever, he knew. Her record showed she had foiled three separate takeover attempts in the business' early days. She had also managed to obtain excellent interest rates for her employer, which required intelligence and knowledge to accomplish. Hanar were regarded as gullible by many beings, and some attempted to take advantage of their "subsentient" status.
After observing her purchases and paying a slicer for her browsing history, Thane decided to send a gift, thanking her for her service. He deliberately left it unsigned.
The gift was an expensive set of Thalma stones; hand carved by revered drell artisans in imitation of their long-dead homeworld. This particular set was nearly fifty kilograms, shaped in the fashion of a desert arch, glowing russet-tan in low light.
He watched the messenger deliver the package; she seemed surprised. A scope liberated from his rifle allowed him to observe her demeanor through a window. A plain window was somewhat anathema to him; he'd never seen the point of actively supporting such a blatant vulnerability…unless she had countermeasure in place behind the window. He doubted that though, he knew security, she had none.
If Irikah had been surprised at a delivery, she was doubly so at the delivery's contents. Thane watched her make several calls, apparently searching for the donor. She passed the window several times, cranial fringe raised in agitation.
Thane was a little disappointed. He hadn't meant to cause her dissatisfaction, but perhaps this was yet another lesson she was teaching him.
He had to meet her.
He stood in the park. It took the full measure of his will to refrain from fleeing. There was no cover, no protective shadow to shield him…he felt worse than naked. He felt targeted. His skills were superb, and anyone attempting to kill him would have an incredibly difficult time succeeding…but his skills were based on stealth. Giving away this advantage was a sign of respect, an acknowledgement of inferiority.
Spice on the wind. She approaches. The wind blew at him across far side of the park, towards her home. He hadn't given up every advantage.
"Are you Mr Krios?" That voice ….
Thane inhaled a light breathing exercise, whistling the air through his tertiary membranes. Turned around. And fell to his knees.
The female drell looked shocked. Her pupils were dilated wide, and somewhat curious. "What are you doing?" she asked.
Thane kept his gaze down. "I am unworthy, but I beg you for forgiveness."
Her tone changed, suspicious. "For what action should I grant you absolution?"
Thane looked up. "That is my problem. I do not know. All I know is I have disappointed you, and I ask forgiveness for failure."
Irikah looked confused. "Maybe you had better start from the beginning, Mr. Krios. And get up. People are starting to stare."
Thane willingly rose. He glanced around the park with a wary eye. Irikah noticed.
"Are you afraid of someone?" she looked around too, but not with the same practice he knew.
"I fear no one. I fear only one, but not for the physical harm she may do to me."
Her head turned sharply. "And just how did I terrify you so greatly?"
Thane bowed his head, refusing to look into her eyes. His own fringe collapsed close to his skull. "Three weeks, two days and fifteen hours ago, you threw yourself between me and the being I was ordered to remove."
Dead silence.
Thane heard a tiny breath of wind. Her hand caught his jaw, twisting his neck sideways. Reflexes jerked his hands upwards, then stopped as his mind forced them back. He looked up. And almost stepped back; her eyes were furious again. She took a predatory half-step, circling slightly to his left.
"How dare you?" her voice was a vicious whisper.
He searched her eyes, hunting for the answer. "I do not understand. That is why I am here. Why?"
Her predatory walk stopped short, looking almost ready to run. "Why what?"
Thane took one small step closer. "I have removed much evil in my time. My body has slain pirates, slavers, bullies and thugs across the galaxy. All of them deserved death. None of them were given mercy. Yet this one turian slave merchant found a protector, a drell who risked her life for his. Why?"
"He was a slaver?" she gasped.
"A slave merchant." Thane corrected absently. "A slaver finds and enslaves beings, while a slave merchant serves as a middleman between the slaver and the buyer. I will repeat." He stepped closer still, looking down into her pure black eyes.
"Why did you save him?"
She stared up at him. Her lips moved slightly … he had to strain to hear.
"Because killing him was wrong."
Then she turned and ran. He did not follow. She had not forgiven … but she understood. Or so he hoped.
The travel-case lay half-empty on the bed. He had finished packing; there was little to put into the case anyway.
The new suit he'd purchased still hung in the closet. He wouldn't need it again. He would return to his Battle Sleep, perform the actions his benefactors asked, fulfilling the Contract. He wouldn't forget this event, but in time, he would cease remembering it so often.
The comm buzzed.
Thane clicked it on, seeing a message. His heart quickened, the return address was from Irikah.
Thane Krios
Kesh`Malingua Hotel
Room #10982
I talked to my employer, who knows your benefactor. I don't understand, but I would like to learn more. I suspect you know where I live. Meet me there this afternoon, if the timing is agreeable.
I forgive you.
Irikah
Thane stared at the message. Images rushed through his mind, each crystal-etched, perfect in detail. But…she forgave him. Forgave him.
He turned back to the closet. Perhaps his suit would be needed one more time.
Only time would tell.
A/N: Well, this was an experiment with a new writing style over Spring Break (love having time to write!). I used a stream-of-consciousness for Thane in the first part (since his memories seem to always run in that fashion), then set up the rest in my standard descriptive style. Thane is an incredible character for which to write, deeply thoughtful while strangely callous. I based what I wrote on the conversations with Shepard in ME2, and a little creative interpretation.
As always, I don't own Mass Effect. I just horse around with Bioware's toys. Thank you for reading!
7/12/2014: updated grammar, typos