Chapter Summary
In which Garrus is the very bestest multitasker.
Chapter Notes
So... doing research for a fic, I've discovered, is a great deal of fun. I can find out some neat science, and then mangle it to suit. I can make shit right the fuck up. It's great! Also, I refuse to use female pronouns for Asari. /puts foot down/
Lexicon:
nais - Asari equivalent of woman. (pronounced Nah-ees) (credit: MizDirected)
Delugia - The Salarian Goddess of Fortune
Litany of Delugia - a chant, repeated over and over, to evoke Delugia and improve the luck and fortune of yourself or loved ones named in the chant Thermal clips, because the ME1 system is boring.
See the end of the chapter for more notes
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Fubar. That's the human phrase Riley was talking about in the break room at C-Sec. Fubar.
'Fuck is a strange word, and realllly doesn't translate well.', Garrus thinks, as he can't figure out why a word for intercourse is also used for 'gone wrong', among a multitude of other things. He finishes reloading his pistol, and signals the next civilian to start running toward safety. He pops up to provide cover fire. Mildly displeased that the range is too short for his Viper. The Hanar bank teller makes the gap unharmed. Garrus drops and reloads.
'Up'. Also a word generally related to positivity. Two more civilians make it to safety, though one was clipped in the arm, he figures it's a miracle that anyone is making it out at all. There are at least fifty Blue Suns robbing this bank, and over five hundred civilians who work here, far more then is needed for hostages. Not that taking hostages seems to be apart of their game plan to pull off a violent bank heist on the damn Citadel. Garrus is curious to know how they think they are going to get away with it.
'Beyond' is a neutral word at least, neither inherently positive or negative. 'Do they have have the explosives to blow an escape route into the keeper tunnels?', he wonders, thoughts bouncing between contemplating the odd human acronym and why these mercenaries are desperate enough to risk making some very expensive enemies by stealing from a bank. On the Citadel. He just can't get over that part, the idiocy of a large scale robbery amidst all this security. Generally the high crime he sees here is of the insidious variety, not the blatantly-going-to-end-in-failure variety. His motions are smooth though, still primed for combat after only being out of civil service for a few years. Or maybe it's the long nights at the range when the kitchen chit gets overfull of credits. He reloads his pistol, waits for a majority of the eight remaining Blue Suns to stop firing and go to switch thermal clips, then he leans out and offers more cover fire with the one brave Asari security guard still here, while signalling the next group of innocent people to make a run for it.
Multitasking is one of his strong points.
A stray bullet clips the edge of the wall the staff is hiding behind, and several of them scream in terror. He has to get them out, this place is a meat grinder. Garrus gnashes his dagger-like teeth, making his gums bleed. This kind of shit isn't supposed to happen on... his... space station, and he is beyond upset about it. The mercs are suddenly down to five, a few of their number hadn't hugged cover enough to avoid the crack-shot Turian in a bad mood. Something is not right with this whole situation, the facts aren't adding up, people are dying, and Garrus is so very done.
Taking a deep breath, he grabs for some calm. Trying to get back to the mindset of the arrogant C-Sec Officer in the middle of a shoot out, lackadaisically contemplating human acronyms because this is, physically at least, easy for him. Pretending he doesn't care as much as he does about the half-a-dozen still forms bleeding out on the floor, wearing office apparel and nice watches.
'Right. Where was I? Oh yeah, 'All' and 'Recognition'. All is straightforward enough...', he clipped the helmet on one, and cursed at his insufficient aim, 'but Recognition feels like it adds intellectualism to the phrase. Even more strange in contrast to the 'Fucked' part being crude slang...'
Damnit, reinforcements. Eight... no, nine more mercs pushed into the room. Garrus glances over at the Asari security guard, they turn to look at him and swallow hard. He nods encouragingly back. 'Don't panic on me now, please.', he tries to say with his eyes, turning toward the gaggle of investment bankers and paper pushes that were terrified and praying they'd get to see their kids again. One Salarian was outright reciting a litany prayer of one Salarian god or another. Good call, Garrus thought, and sent off a plea to the Spirits for protection. Not for himself, but for the innocent-ish people trapped here that just wanted to go home.
Like a Spirit of Justice summoned to the call, Saren Arterius dove in through a window and slammed into cover not 10 meters away, cracking with blue energy.
Garrus blinked, hard.
'...Right. Well then.', he sent out a loud mental thank you before leaning out, motioning the next civilian to run, and proceeding with cover fire. Arterius was quick on the drop, joining him and the Asari, their increased number making up for the merc reinforcements.
A short time passed and fourteen targets dropped to six then rose back up to eleven, but with the heavier crossfire those too disappeared, leaving only the sound of the remaining civilians running en masse for the stair well. More gun fire echoed through the air ducts from the upper levels.
The Asari turned to him and spoke for the first time, "Celara Riase. Thank you, so much, for your help. I... I have to go..." The nais trailed off and looked up at the ceiling, toward distant sounds of gunfire and screaming. "I have to go." Celara repeated firmly, and took off at a fast walk, scooping up fresh thermal clips from the corpses of the dead. Garrus half-smiled. For a security guard in a supposedly cushy position... the Asari had guts, at least.
Movement at the corner of his eye caught Garrus' attention, Saren was also liberating a few thermal clips. 'Well then... looks like the party's just getting started.' he thought with a touch of guilty excitement, still somewhat incredulous that Saren spirits-damned Arterius had just biotically flown through a third story window, on cue.
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Saren was somewhat pleased to find something to occupy his time during the shore leave Nihlus had pleaded for. They had delivered Jondam to a private unnamed clinic that Spectres favored for it's circumspection, given a verbal report to the council, turned in paperwork and restocked supplies in the Spectre offices, and then spent the night at Saren's rarely-used apartment. This morning they'd eaten a fantastic breakfast of imported foods from Palaven, caught up on rumors and news with Tela Vasir, and then he'd dumped Nihlus off with Riaz Ti'ofore to play with her latest grenade mods. Nihlus was ever distracted by things that exploded, and Saren had been peacefully enjoying the day at a nearby cafe known for clandestine meetings, surreptitiously hidden at a table tucked behind a large leafy plant. Keeping an aural canal open for useful intel.
Bored out of his mind.
When the block-wide evacuation order went out for a high rise bank not four kilometers from the cafe, he had been just bored and curious enough to care.
'This is... much better.' He pulled out a hand full of thermal clips from a dead mercenary's ammo jacket. The security guard was inching around the corner, checking warily for hostiles. Apparently knowing the route to the next floor and the remaining targets. Excellent. The C-Sec officer stalked past him, a tight smile in his mandibles, moving to cover the other side. He peered around the corner as well, seeing nothing, then moving on without hesitating. Saren stood to follow them.
Down an empty hallway, starkly contrasting the previous room by being pristine and undamaged, around a corner, into a different stair well, and up they went. The officer pushed open the door on the next level just a crack, and stopped to listen. Saren nodded approval and also listened carefully, his aural augments allowing for crystal clear hearing at long distances, all adjusted for appropriate volume.
"I hear nothing on this floor. Move on." The Turian nodded at him and moved to take point again, turning to go first as was expected of subordinates with Hierarchy military training. If he was recognized as being informally in charge, that suited the Spectre just fine. The Asari moved to follow automatically.
They crept up two more levels before the gun fire echos ringing through the stairwell made it clear that violence was indeed occurring on this particular floor. Not five minutes passed before they ended up in a similar situation to the previous encounter, but with a greater number of hostiles, and two extra security guards. Riase had purloined a better shield generator and an extra gun from a dead merc, and was taking cover in the entry way, playing traffic cop to the civilians and providing minimal cover fire, though not managing to kill anything. The Spectre let out an vague growl of annoyance. At the very least the Asari nais had been somewhat useful, there were dropping levels of civilians to get in his way. However, the two new security personnel were proving to be worse than useless, providing inaccurate... he hesitated to call it 'cover fire'... on occasion when they managed to work up the courage to reach their sidearms around a corner and fire blindly. He called for their attention several times, and when he finally had it, motioned for them to leave. They looked absurdly grateful and did so. His subvocals rumbled quietly. 'Incompetents.'
On the other hand, the unnamed Turian in C-Sec armor had... decent aim. They were one for one in kills as they progressed through this floor, able to push forward slowly rather then just bunker down. His pride not allowing him to simply match a lowly C-Sec Officer in kill count, he tugged at the power behind his eyes and it bloomed vigorously, ricocheted down his spine and out his arm with a memetic movement. The heavy lift tossed five of the Blue Suns into the air. He took out four, the silver-grey plated Officer catching the last one.
An amused and friendly voice came from beyond the office-furniture-turned-cover, floating over the debris of datapads and office plants.
"Cheating, are we?"
Saren snorted lightly, subvocals amused. Apparently this torin was competitive. Very well. He would-
Saren blinked twice in mild astonishment as the other Turian burst out from behind his desk-cover and into the space of an enemy merc, grabbing the Turian's fringe and jaw he snapped their neck, and tumbled again. He ended up rolling into the open to deck a Batarian across the face, and then dove left, bringing him into a flanking cover. He let off a few shots that hadn't hit anything by dint of no one else being up, and barreled around some filing cabinets to the terror of another merc. The Officer repeated the close quarters take down, then spun down on a knee behind his newly stolen cover, shields barely damaged, and took out two more mercenaries with the improved angle of attack. Head shots both.
All in under twenty seconds.
Saren let off a subvocal rumble of mild reproach for recklessness, but couldn't keep out a small flicker of amusement. The torin was C-Sec? What a waste.
"That was reckless, Officer." He spoke loudly, to be heard over the din of return fire.
"Maybe," the Officer drawled, unrepentant sounding, "effective though. Your turn. My name is Garrus by the way. Vakarian." Saren snorted, the nonchalance reminding him of Nihlus. Unlike he and his erstwhile protégé however, Vakarian was a well known clan name. Old, Palaven based, wealthy, with hundreds, if not thousands of members. A political clan from the home world, which would explain why he wasn't useless in a fight. He'd probably received special instruction on combat and arms since childhood.
They moved forward from there, with a few unseen glares from Riase for what might be considered unprofessional showmanship, and finished clearing the floor of hostiles. Onward and upward they moved, on the next level a single guard remained, holed up in an executive office, a tall brown and red Salarian. The floor cleared, civilians directed to escape routes, and they moved on. The Salarian was named Torvas, he informed them somberly as he fell in line, and if they were looking for the target of the attack, he guessed it was the data servers that housed the central credit banks, seven floors up.
"Soon as violent activity was detected in the building the local VI will have cut the hard wire connection to the server banks, shut itself down." Torvas elaborated, "Can now only be accessed or repaired manually. If the server hardware, and subsequently the billions of credits inside, are the target of the attack, will have to go up three floors, and over to a separate access tunnel."
A message notification popped up on Saren's retinal implant, the unobtrusive heads-up-display informing him it was from Nihlus as the Salarian droned on about the security precautions keeping anyone from getting to the servers themselves. He flicked at the acceptance key on his Omni-tool.
:alwaysclassy
TO: 8466672/LOCAL
there is a skyscraper on fire suspiciously close to where I left you -nk
END MSSG
Saren opened a live chat.
/CONNECT:1886039_to_ .8416_to_8466672
Connecting...
Connected.
SA: I did not start any fires.
NK: but... you're there
SA: Yes.
NK: of course you are. im on my way
SA: Check the roof. I have yet to discover how they intended to evacuate after reaching their goal.
NK: who is they?
SA: Blue Suns, apparently.
NK: what the hell?!
SA: Language, Nihlus.
NK: its appropriate!
SA: Just go.
/CONNECTION_CLOSED
A few minutes later a new message alert popped up. Nihlus hadn't found anything of note on the roof, or any roof-top exit door. Most buildings didn't have them, the tops of such towers being too close to the atmo-net that kept the Citadel's air trapped, causing rooftop levels to be a safety concern for depressurization. He sent a reply asking Nihlus to search for other escape points or get-a-way vehicles. Something was off, though Saren hadn't pinned a talon on it yet.
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Chapter End Notes
[Author's Codex Entry] Delugia
Delugia, the Salarian Goddess of Fortune, is often depicted as a small, pale blue female with none of the spots or speckles usually found on Salarian skin. Said to be the last daughter of the Ocean and Sky, Delugia is known for her great compassion, giving god-luck to the deserving who pray for her blessing. Also sometimes known as the Lady of Footprints, her temples are generally found on island beaches, where Ocean meets sky, and is shown in murals to be constantly wandering the sands leaving foot prints behind. Expectant mothers will journey to these temples, and search nearby beaches for foot prints to follow in, step by step, while repeating the Litany of Delugia, in hopes of a luck-filled life for her children.
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