Warning: this chapter is mostly filler, building up for the next one.
Disclaimer: i do not own mass effect or gundam seed, their respective characters, or anything else besides OC's, OT(original technology) and OMS' (original mobile suits) Mass Effect and their respective characters, locations and universe belong to BioWare and is licensed by EA Games. Gundam SEED, Gundam SEED Destiny and their respective characters, locations and universe belong to sunrise, Inc. and is licensed by Namco/Bandai entertainment, and Madman entertainment.
If i missed anyone, please let me know!
PHASE 0 Prologue/ Unseen Shadows
Codex entry: Classified documents: Artifact 634 Disaster.
On 2146 CE, a salarian exploration vessel, charted by the Batarian Hegemony, and escorted by a turian scout fleet, entered an uncharted relay and discovered a system with a habitable agrarian world, orbiting a yellow star, making it a perfect colony system.
However, all that changed when the science teams discovered a crashed artifact, later revealed to be a human-built "mobile suit".
Immediately after it's discovery, the expedition was recalled to council space, and the turian military, having been the presiding military force in the area, was given permission to classify the artifact as under their military jurisdiction.
However, among the salarain scientists sent to examine the suit, at the behest of the turians, was a rouge STG agent, who murdered a batarian representative, who was one of two sent to protect the Hegemony's interests in the planet, as well as the other members of the science team he accompanied. Apparently, he had planed to sell the data recovered from the suit to the highest bidder.
Further investigation revealed his supporter, and the mastermind behind the plan, was the Dalatrass Imora Sothol, who planned to use the profits to fund a proxy war between the council races, and manipulate her way to the top of the Salarian Union. Fortunately, the plan was discovered and she was arrested and deposed by the Head Dalatrass Ultera.
The Turian Hierarchy, as well as Vor'gall Korragan of the Batarian Hegemony, were commended for stopping one of the most dangerous attacks on the council, since the height of the Krogan Rebellions.
PROLOGUE – 2
The birds native to the agrarian world had never had to worry about danger any more.
None of the native fauna could reach them, unless incredibly lucky.
But all that had changed the moment two of the newcomers stumbled on the metal giant, that had crashed down some time ago.
Now the local birds were spending most of the following days dodging numerous shuttles as they dropped more and more newcomers, all climbing over themselves to see the landmark discovery that they were to transport back to council space.
Numerous turian soldiers swarmed around the once secluded waterfall, setting up camps and taking up defensive positions around the derelict mobile framework, as a trio of the most excited salarians anyone had ever seen, now seemingly stuck in hyperactive-mode, relentlessly combed every cubic meter and square inch of the machine, scanning anything, and everything they could.
Captain Duras Haliat, a respected (and feared) turian,was in charge of the recovery operation for the machine.
Although, the salarians had pretty much commandeered the whole blasted opp.
Haliat had argued at length about bringing the salarians into the fold about the battleframe, but the primarch had countermanded his order.
"We need to build our advantage.", the primarch had said. "For as long as I can remember, the salarians have always had the upper hand in their deals with us. Now we're the ones that have something they want. They'll come in on their hands and knees to see even a fraction of what we recovered, and I intend to take full advantage of that."
Haliat had to agree with that. As long as they didn't get too much, this could be the biggest boon the turians could have hoped for.
If they played it right.
After the battleframe had been discovered, the first two things the hierarchy had done was send out a black-ops unit to secure the frame, and to retract the exploratory fleet, on the grounds of, 'possible contact with an unknown race'.
According to what he'd been told, none of the science teams, with the exception of the asari and her turian boyfriend, had actually seen the derelict battleframe, and he was to take great pains, if necessary, to ensure it remained that way.
Both the asari, Corina, and the turian, Taro, would not be a problem.
Taro was a security officer for hire, who usually did corporate jobs for the businesses on the citadel, and the asari was just a simple agriculture scholar. Both would not realize the discovery wouldn't be public, and both would be sworn to secrecy before they could.
Aside from them, no one else on the expedition ship knew just what they had found.
And no one else would, until it was safely on Palaven.
His omni-tool suddenly flared, showing a priority message coming in.
"Sir?" a voice came from the display, "we have an incoming transmission, labeled priority, highest level, sir."
"who from?"
"Not sure, sir, but the authorization checks out. we do have the location source, and judging on that alone, you're gonna want to answer it, sir," the officer said, sounding slightly nervous.
Haliat nodded, then issued the command from his display.
"Confirmed. Patching you you through, sir."
Haliat watched as the signal acquired it's transmission source.
Straight from Menae, moon of Palaven, homeworld of the turians.
And the site of Blackwatch HQ.
Glancing around nervously, he walked toward the edge of the trees, into the shadows, now dark as the void in the planet's night cycle, as he answered the comm.
His omni-tool flared back to life around his arm, projecting a mini screen form the top 'panel', upon which he was put in contact with his commander, - a turian with a chalk white face, blue-gray flange crests, the side-crests stemming from the side of his head substantially longer then average, and dark-blue facial paint, a single stripe down each eye, and down his chin.
As soon as connection was confirmed, he gave a salute to his superior officer, and commander.
"Commander Arterius." he said, surprised.
"At ease, solider."
Haliat, quickly getting over his surprise, dropped his salute and assumed a more comfortable stance. "Sir, you called. Priority?"
"Yes," He started, " I was just informed by the primarch, of your mission, and what you've found out there. I've been put in charge of the operation."
Haliat blinked at that. "You, sir? But I thought commander Victus-"
"For the expedition, yes," he clarified, "but this is now a military operation, involving unidentified technology." he straightened up a bit more. "And according to the primarch, that is now my jurisdiction. It is my job to ensure complete secrecy over the transfer, and protection of the battleframe."
Haliat did not respond, but he gave a nod of affirmation.
"As such, there are certain...discrepancies that have come to light", he went on. "Which brings me to my reason for contacting you." Haliat nodded agaian.
"Oh, and captain," he said. Haliat's stance stiffened up even more. " For the duration of the mission, you are not to give yourself away as turian military, therefore there's no need for rank on this one"
"But commander-"
"Please," he interrupted smoothly "call me Desolas."
PAGE BREAK (v)
Not far away, one of the two batarians that had been stationed on the planet was making his way around the treeline, searching for his partner, after a request for help.
With what, he hadn't said, but whatever it was, most likely was not worth the trouble, given the nature of the rich cursing coming from the four-eyed, bat-descended biped as he tripped over several assorted roots and shrubs.
Vor'gall muttered angrily to himself, as he stumbled in the dark between trees, wondering how in the HELL'S he had gotten stranded here.
He was supposed to have gone back with everyone else, but instead, he and some other fool had been stranded here, with the damn turians and salarians.
Now, Ro'sholl, the after-mentioned fool, had called saying he needed help. He said he'd 'found something.'
He hadn't come on this trip to babysit some whiny idiot.
He tripped on another root, spurring him into violent string of curses.
'Screw this! I'm not some guard varren! You want to have guard patrols, use drones! That's what they were made for, right?'
"Should have made that dumbass wait at the camp. What was he doing here, anyway?"
The turians had some of the crews from the expedition stay to guard the site, until the new ship the turians sent finished recovering "the artifact". At least that's what they called it.
And until they were done, nobody was allowed within eight-hundred feet of the site.
And it wasn't fair.
The batarians had been the ones who charted the expedition in the first place! This was supposed to be their world!
Now the council had claimed what was probably the most valuable thing on the entire planet, their entire planet, and they thought they were just going to sit on their hands and do nothing?
They had a rude awaking coming.
At muzzle velocity.
He was so deep in thought, he wasn't watching the ground.
He tripped over a particularly thick root and and fell flat over the side of a small hill. He rolled once, twice, three times over, swearing and cursing until he finally came to a stop six feet away from his starting point.
He lay face down in the dirt, before raising himself back up, spitting out a handful of dirt, and brushing the stray leaves and dirt particles from his uniform.
"Goddamned trees! I swear, if we ever manage to get the council off our world, I'll see every tree in this whole damned forest ripped up!."
Most batarians could see quite well in the dark, thanks to their bat-like ancestors.
But, the sheer amount of roots nullified that. For every one you dodged, three more sprung up seemingly out of nowhere.
He then set himself to the task of climbing back up the side of the hill, mumbling various curses in every language he could think of.
After several minutes of scrabbling and swearing, he pulled himself to the top of the hill.
"Stupid root." he said, eying the tree where the offending plant appendage had sent him over the side of the slope. He walked over, fully intending to rip the tree root straight out of the ground.
And stopped dead, eyes widening in horror at the site before him.
There, splayed across the ground beside the tree, was Ro'sholl, lying face down in a dark pool of what could only be blood, leaking from the dagger sunk deep into his upper back. His arm was flung outward at an unnatural angle, close to where Vor'gall had tripped and fell down the hill.
'Exactly the same spot' Vor'gall realized, a wave of nausea coming over him, as he just now figured out what he'd really tripped on.
He knelt down to Ro'sholl's side, checking just to make sure he really was dead.
He certainly didn't look like he wasn't, but Vor'gall learned to never take things at face value.
He rolled him over face-up onto his back, ignoring his glazed eyes, then-
He covered his nose, the sent wafting off his clothes hitting him like a carnafex hand-cannon.
'Drunk on the job. Just like him.'
He carefully put two fingers on Ro'sholl's neck.
No pulse. No breath.
'Dead as a krogan's brain cells,' he thought, starting to stand back up, when he noticed what looked, and smelled, like blood stained into his right arm.
He blinked his eyes once, thinking he'd never even felt himself get hurt, when he saw that his right shoulder was covered in blood as well.
It took a few seconds for him to realize the blood wasn't his.
'Must have fallen in some when i fell', he thought grimly. He again knelt down to adjust Ro'sholl's head, facing it straight up toward the sky, his eyes aimed at the general direction of the star pattern that held the Kite's nest, and their homeworld, Khar'shan.
'Farewell Ro'sholl Bakkel. May your soul find safe journey to the next world.', he said in his native language. He then chanted a short prayer, head bowed down.
Sure he hadn't been found of him, but he didn't hate him. All batarians were taught to honor those who were faithful to Khar'shan, no matter what bad blood was between them. Outlaws weren't worth crap, and most would gladly spit on them before taking their eyes, so as to prevent them from reaching the next world.
But those who were faithful to their fellow batarians, and to their home, would always be treated with respect.
He finished the prayer, wondering what he would now do with the body, and was just standing up-
"I didn't think you prayed for the dead," a flanged voice said from behind him.
Vor'gall spun around, reflexively reaching for his belt, and grabbing the empty socket his gun normally was.
He looked at the socket dumbfounded, before mentally cursing himself, realizing it must have come off when he fell down the hill.
Realizing he could do nothing, he turned back to the interloper – a turian in black armor, lined with thin gray markings. His face looked like every other turian usually did, his skin and plates a dark charcoal – gray and lined with dark-blue markings.
"I saw you a minute ago, but when I saw you over the body, I... figured I should give you some time to acclimatize," he went on. "Sorry if I startled you."
Vor'gall just eyed him suspiciously, as he continued looking around, searching for some form of weapon.
The turian seemed to see this. "Would it be easier if I put my weapons down?" he asked, and started to reach for his sidearm.
"Hold it!" the batarian said, taking a careful step toward him. The turian froze, three fingered hand hovering just above the hilt of the gun. "I'll do it!" he said, as if he didn't realize that with no weapon of his own, there was nothing he could do to force the turian to cooperate if he tried anything.
But if the turian saw the opening, and, unless he was stupid, he must have, he didn't take it. He just lowered his hand and let Vor'gall walk up to him.
He reached over carefully, griped the turian's handgun, and removed it from the magnetic socket it was clamped to. He then circled around, and pulled off his other weapons – a shotgun, a sniper rifle, and an assault rifle, and tossed them several feet away, before he turned back to the turian.
'Well armed, isn't he?' Vor'gall thought.
"Okay," he started, not quite believing he'd got a fully armed turian to drop his weapons for an unarmed guy standing over what was clearly a murder scene. He, himself would have just shot the other and been done with it. "First off, what's your name?".
"I'm Team Captain Duras Haliat" he said plainly, not sounding the least bit concerned at all. "I was out here searching for one of the salarians when I found this, then-"
"What?" Vor'gall asked, working to keep the suprise from his voice. "Y-you mean you knew about this? When? Why the hell didn't you tell someone?"
Haliat gave him an annoyed look, as if his biggest concern was that he'd been interrupted, instead of the half-panicked batarian pointing a gun at him.
"First off, I only just found the body. Second, I didn't tell anyone because I never got the chance before you came stumbling in."
"So you just foundthe body?" he asked, not bothering to hide the suspicion in his voice.
Haliat gave him an irritated look. "Yes," he asserted, "I just found it, otherwise I wouldn't have just left it here for someone to, literally, trip over, now would I?"
"Or you could have just got here, like you said, but instead, it was to move it away to dispose of." he suggested, "Or maybe, you just moved it here, and didn't get a chance to bury it, or burn it or whatever, before I came along?".
Haliat sighed, wondering if all batarians were this paranoid. "look, I'm armed- was armed, right? If I was the killer, I would have just shot him dead."
"No," Vor'gall said, "cause then someone might have herd the shot. Nothing is more silent then a blade."
"Know that from experience, do you?" Haliat asked a split second before he realized he should have kept his mouth shut.
Vor'gall's eyes narrowed dangerously, his facial ridges scrunching in a angry look.
"Are you suggesting something?" he asked coldly.
"No, I-"
"You saying I had something to do with this?" he accused.
"I never said that." Haliat said. "Your putting words in my mouth."
"You said I 'know from experience' right? You saying you think you saw something, huh?"
"Listen!" Haliat snapped, his patience wearing thin. "I am not the killer, because if I was, I would have shot you the moment you found the body, and I was in a perfect position to do so. And I know it wasn't you!"
Vor'gall blinked once. "How do you know that?"
Haliat stared him down. "Because I saw the real killer leave." He said.
Just like that, as if he was talking about the weather.
Vor'gall's jaw dropped, his eyes widened and his grip on the gun slackened, to the point where the gun nearly fell from his grip.
"Please don't drop a loaded gun." the turian warned.
He caught himself in time, then brought back to bear on the turian.
"Y-y-you," he stuttered "you saw him?"
"Yes, I did." he said. "I saw him come from behind the tree and-" he put his hand to his head. "Look, I recorded it on my omni-tool. See for yourself."
"You- you had-," he struggled to catch up with what he was told.
When Vor'gall did, he cast a withering glare at Haliat. "Why. Didn't. You. Say. Something? Do you know how much trouble you could have saved the both of us?"
Haliat just shrugged. "You never asked if I knew what happened."
It took all of Vor'gall's self-restraint to not shoot him.
He steadied his breathing, working to tell himself that he'd be shot dead by the other guards that would, no doubt, hear the gunshot.
And he didn't want to die. Not before he had a chance to avenge his fellow batarian.
"Well" he said finally, after several seconds of steadying himself. "Let's see it."
PAGE BREAK(0)
Ro'sholl was stumbling half-blinded – mostly from the heavy amounts of drink he'd had – through the tangle of woods that layered around the waterfall in a small ring. Clasped in one hand was a flask, filled with batarian ale, straight from the barkeeps of omega. And in the other, was a datapad that would make him the richest batarian this side of the hegemony.
When he got back to batarian space, he'd be famous, estates across half the galaxy. Hell, a penthouse on the presidium even!
Although, he would have to probably give something to his source.
After he took as much credit as he could, of course. After all, he'd never have this chance if not for that-
He heard a rustling in the bush a few feet away. He jumped back, dropping his flask, and pulled out his M-3 predator hand pistol. He shakily aimed it at the bush.
"W-who's there?" he asked, his voice as shaky as his aim.
No answer.
"Is – is someone there?" he asked again.
Again, nothing.
He took a step forward. The bush rustled again, much louder.
Ro'sholl panicked, firing into the bush, the sound of which would attract the attention of his partner, and fellow batarian.
He took a few nervous steps toward the bush in question.
Beep! Beep!
He jumped several feet, feeling his heart nearly pop out his chest.
He soon realized the sound was his omni-tool. He looked as his wrist, and pulled up the display.
"Ro'sholl? You there?"
It was Vor'gall. His fellow batarian, – and the only other on planet.
"Yeah, Yeah I'm here. What's wrong?"
"Just checking in. I thought I heard a noise. Sounded like a shot fired."
Ro'sholl gulped nervously.
"Uh... that was me, I... I thought I saw an animal."
"What? Damn it, Ro'sholl! This isn't like hunting harvesters on Tarith! This is a non-hostile ecosystem! The most danger here is stubbing your toe on a damned root!"
"Yeah, well, how do we know that? We've only been here for just over a day!"
"We're also leaving tomorrow, as soon as the turians are done pillaging our world."
"Yeah, right," he muttered. "You know as damn well as I do that once the council sinks their grubby claws into something, they never pull them without reasons that make it to much trouble to be worth it."
"I guess..." Vor'gall replyed. "Still a damn shame, though. This was a perfect colony site. Do you know how long we might have to wait for another site that even comes close to this one?"
"Well..." Ro'sholl started, looking nervously around, making sure no-one could hear.
"Well, what?"
"could you come here?" he asked, fidgeting with his pistol. "I... I've found something. Something that could help us."
"What? what is it?" Vor'gall asked, "and why can't you just come to me, instead of making me find you in the godforsaken woods?"
' Don't answer truthfully ' Ro'sholl thought to himself. ' they could be monitoring the comms. '
"I-I, Uh... I don't know where I am. I'm not sure how to get back to camp, and I swapped my omni-tool module, so no tracker," he paused, "Sorry."
Ro'sholl had to lower the volume on his comm, as it was suddenly lit up with string after string of violent cursing.
"Son of a-" the comm was filled with static, overwhelmed by the slur of violent swearing coming from the other side. "Just stay there, you stupid, brain-dead, son-of-a-bitch-dumb-bastard! I'll be there soon. This had better be worth it," He said, "And you better not move till I get there!"
The comm then abruptly shut off. A clear sign he was not in a good mood.
But he didn't have anyone else to turn to. He'd never get off-world with the data, and he didn't trust anyone who wasn't a fellow batarian.
Still, he'd have to to be cautious. He couldn't risk-
rustle, rustle
He stopped in mid-thought, his eyes widening in shock, as he focused back on the bush he'd shot, sure he'd once again herd movement from it.
'Not possible,' he thought, fear creeping into his mind. 'I already shot it, and I didn't hit anything.'
Slowly turning around, he moved toward the bush, picking up a large rock in one hand. Gripping it tightly in his hand, he drew nearer to the bush...
Then he screamed and tackled it, beating it repeatedly with the stone, over and over till he was sure it was vacant, or that the occupant was dead.
When he was done, the only thing left was a small, ruined mess of broken branches hanging limply from a torn stump, the leaves scattered around in messy piles, showing on signs of having ever been occupied.
Ro'sholl just stared at the smashed, ruined bush, panting, tying to figure out if he was going crazy.
'No,' he assured himself, ' I did hear something. I know I herd something!' He looked around, high and low, yet still he saw nothing that proved him right. 'So where did-'
His train of thought was violently broken as he felt something snake under his arm, keeping him from reaching his gun, then what felt distinctly like a hand pushed his head up, so he couldn't see his attacker, then clamped over his mouth, cutting off his attempted scream.
He tried to reach across with his right hand to grab his gun, but before he could reach the grip, he felt something pierce his back, stunning him as his entire body rippled with intense pain.
Then everything went forever black.
PAGE BREAK(0)
Vor'gall just stared at the recording Haliat showed him, as it played, in what felt like slow motion, the murder of his fellow.
For what felt like minutes, he watched as a shadow-like figure suddenly wrapped his arm under Ro'sholl's left arm, then pushed his head upward, before clasping his hand over Ro'sholl's mouth. He then tried to grab his pistol with his other arm, but it suddenly broke off and flew to his back, no doubt trying to stop the knife that had inevitably killed him.
Then, after Ro'sholl fell to the ground, the shadow-like figure 'dissipated', revealing, to Vor'gall's shock, a salarian, Clad in a dark gray jacket and a black jumpsuit lined with gray plates, his amphibian, double-jointed legs lined with several strap-on pockets, and an extra pack on each of his long arms, his hands each bearing two fingers and a thumb. His amphibian face, just like all salarians,was narrow and elongated, topped with two cranial horns, one on each side of the top of his head, frog-like eyes, with eyelids on the bottom, instead of on top like most beings. His skin was a bluish-gray, dotted with blue spots, and his eyes were a dark maroon red.
Quickly turning his head around, he knelt down to check the batarian, before moving to pick up the datapad from where Ro'sholl had set it, before he attacked the bush.
The salarian looked ta the datapad once, then turned an moved back to Ro'sholl's body. He pulled up his omni-tool, and started talking to someone.
"I found the batarian. He had the data. Not sure how he got it yet, but-"
The feed cut out, signaling the end of the recording.
Vor'gall just stood there, contemplating what he'd just seen.
Failing that, he turned and faced Haliat, his expression now one of barely controlled fury. His brain worked overtime trying, and failing, to find the words appropriate to the situation, and to his emotions.
Unable to do that, he settled for the basic approach.
"Why? What the HELL HAPPENED?" he screamed.
Not satisfied with the lack of an answer, he Violently grabbed Haliat by the frill of his armor, and pulled him forward."What was on that-that datapad that the salarian wanted? What made it so valuable it was worth killing for?"
Haliat stayed silent for a moment, casting a deadly glare at the batarian, contemplating the solution himself, as well as a way to explain it to his batarian cohort, without getting his flange torn off in a fit of insane rage.
"Well, for starters, if you could let go of me, I'll tell you about the datapad." he said, wrenching Vor'gall's hands off his armor.
After he was sure the batarian wasn't going to attack again, he steped to the side and leaned against a nearby tree.
"About two hours ago, someone hacked into the research terminal at site zero – the waterfall and pond we're excavating the 'artifact' at. Before you start getting upset, the batarian was not the hacker. In fact, I think the culprit was his killer – the salarian."
Vor'gall glanced back at Ro'sholl's dead body, suppressing a shudder at the assassin's blade still wedged between his shoulder blades.
"But why?" Vor'gall asked, anger still evident in his voice. "What the hell was on it that made it worth murder?"
Haliat glanced around for several seconds, then stepped closer to Vor'gall, and asked a simple question.
"Would you like to see?"
PAGE BREAK(v)
True to his word, Haliat took Vor'gall to site zero, taking him to a hill with enough of a gap to see the small rock face where the teams were diligently working to dig away the debris, so that mass lifters could be placed, and then transfer the 'Artifact' onto the frigate sitting parked beside the treeline.
And like so many others – nearly everyone, that is – who had seen it, Vor'gall could only gape in awe at the sight of the crashed battleframe, blinking several times, as if testing to see if all four of his eyes were working, then blinking them one at a time, to see if they all saw the same thing.
When he finally recovered his voice, he could only react as any batarian would.
" What the ******* Hells of the galaxy Is that?" he half-yelled.
Haliat shushed him, looking around to make sure no sentry drones heard him, before answering.
"That, my batarian friend, is what half the entire hierarchy wants to know. And what our salarian friend tried to stop us from doing."
He gestured for him to come further into the treeline, so the drones could not find them.
"Yesterday, an anomalous signal started transmitting on an unknown frequency in a language not used by any known race." He started, moving behind a large tree. "Later, we found out it was a distress beacon, set to go of automatically, when a space ship got close enough to it for it's signal to reach it."
He gestured back to the site. "Later on, two members of the research team stumbled onto the wreck. They were quickly debriefed on the situation – about how the discovery could sow chaos across citadel space, if not handled properly and discretely."
"And that's a load of varren crap, isn't it?" Vor'gall asked, as if he knew, "That was just to get them to keep quiet, right? Least till you could get that...Whatever the hell it is, offworld?"
Haliat nodded, giving an approving 'smile'. "You catch on quicker then I thought."
"You have to be, where I come from. If you don't learn the game quick, you can lose more then just your money and pride."
"I don't doubt it," Haliat said musingly. "And you're right. What we told the two who found the battlefreme was just a cover, and by the time they realize that," he smirked, "the frame will be locked away, and nobody will believe them without proof, which they don't have."
"But Ro'sholl did, didn't he?" Vor'gall asked, his shrewd batarian business sense, rivaling even a volus, kicking in. "That's what was on that damned datapad the salarian killed him for, am I right?"
"Not at first, no. The salarian probably stole it first, form us. Then the batarian took it from him." He gave a bemused chuckle. "He probably didn't even know what he had until after he'd taken it."
"Who was the salarian? Is he a merc?"
"I don't think so." Haliat said, thinking deeply. "He was using concealment tech – cloaking fields. That's experimental tech, not even past development stages, so he must have been using a prototype. Not effective in anything except extreme dark."
"Must be worth a hellva lot," Vor'gall said thoughtfully, "bet we could get rich just selling the scrap if got busted, but intact... hummm." he started running numbers.
"Indeed it would be quite valuable, but not my point," Haliat broke in, "My point is that he could not have gotten tech like that, unless he was special forces."
"Special forces?" Vor'gall asked, some worry in his voice, "So he's STG." Another horrifying thought occurred to him.
"Or worse... a spectre."
Haliat seemed to think about that for a moment. "I don't think he's a spectre. If he was, he wouldn't bother playing cloak and dagger with us." he paused, realizing the horrible connection he accidentally made when he remembered how they had found Ro'sholl's body.
He sifted his feet "Um, sorry."
Vor'gall sighed irritably. "Whatever." He muttered. "Okay, so since he hasn't used his council authority to kill us all, or arrest us, that means he probably isn't a spectre."
Haliat nodded. "So, that makes him STG, which makes sense, since this was a salarian expedition. His orders were probably to recover any artifacts or data recovered from them."
"You know that for sure?" Vor'gall asked.
"No, but it makes sense when you look at everything that's happened, doesn't it?"
Vor'gall said nothing, only nodding. Still, he made a note to keep an eye on Haliat. The fact he was able to 'just piece everything together' was very convenient.
Almost too convenient.
"But it's risky." Vor'gall went on, " When the expedition was formed, all races participating promised not to send any of their government's agents onborad. No exceptions." he he leaned against a tree. "I expected the council to try to sneak in a spectre, but I didn't think any of them had the guts to go it alone, behind the others backs."
"I'm not so surprised," Haliat said casually, "the salarains send STG behind the backs of everyone, even each other. I'd be surprised if they weren't acting alone."
"Why stop you though? They gain just everyone else in council space when this thing gets back, right?"
"It's not about how the galaxy responds to what we learn from it" Haliat said, "It's about who makes the discovery first."
Then it clicked. NowVor'gall knew why this was so important.
"You're cutting the salarians out." he said, sounding smug at how he'd figured it out. (not surprising, considering how, since cutthroat deals were normal for batarians, it never surprised them.)
"That's it, isn't it? You've never had the upper-hand on them before, and this is too good a chance to pass up." he said, "but they hid an agent on the science team, and he found out what you were planning, right?"
Haliat gave mildly impressed look. "Just about." he admitted. "He hacked into our logs and found out we planned on concealing it from the council, and the other races, at least until after it was back on Palaven." he looked back to where the site was currently hidden behind the trees. "When the signal beacon went off, the expedition vessel was retracted, and one of our flotillas was sent in to confirm contact. That makes this all fall into turian military jurisdiction, allowing us to withhold or release information to the council at our convenience."
"Except in matters that affect the status quo of the entire galaxy, like that," Vor'gall pointed back to the site, "and the potential technology reverse-engineering it produces."
Haliat nodded, "Exactly. The salarian agent didn't like the thought of the turians having that kind of power over the galaxy, over the salarians, so he copied the data and stole it."
"And then Ro'sholl took it from him."
"Yes," Haliat said, "Like I said, he probably saw him take the data the first time, then took it for himself later."
He looked over to the area of the woods they had come from, where the after mentioned batarian had been left, still lying dead on the ground. "And then the salarian came to get it back."
Vor'gall looked at the ground for a moment.
"... So...where does that leave us?" he asked tensely, "I mean, what comes next?"
There was an uncomfortable silence after that. Neither one of them said anything for several seconds.
"Well," Haliat said, finally breaking the silence, "I intend to take back what's ours. I'm going to kill the salarian, and recover the data."
Vor'gall watched him move toward the pile he'd left Hailat's weapons in when he disarmed him.
"You'll risk bringing the entire STG down on your head, you know." Vor'gall warned.
"I don't think so," Haliat said, "They weren't supposed to have any agents from any governments on the expedition. If he completed his mission and got back to salarian space, then they could risk being a bit more open about it, especially if they could change the galaxy thanks to it."
He turned back to face Vor'gall. "But if the mission fails, they can't ever admit sending him out, without suffering penalties for breaking the council's rules, so they'll probably just say he was a rouge agent. And if they kill me afterward, that will blow the cover-story, which implicates them even more, and the investigations will cause scandal for them." He turned back to the pile. "Also, seeing as he didn't even bother to properly dispose of the body, or destroy the evidence, this agent seems to be a raw recruit, meaning they were desperate, or overconfident. He won't be expecting us to have caught on to him, and that makes him vulnerable. "
"No," he said, "if he fails, the truth will be buried, and they can't do anything about it without bringing the council down on their heads."
"But you forgot something." Vor'gall said.
"Oh?" Haliat said, as he reached down for his rifle, "And that would be?"
Ca-Click!
Haliat turned to see his confiscated pistol being pointed directly at his head.
"You never said what happens to me in all of this," Vor'gall said darkly. "Just how do I know you won't put a round in me? I'm just as much a 'risk' as Ro'sholl was, right?"
Haliat did nothing to suggest he was at all concerned about how his own gun was staring him in the face. He just looked at batarian.
"If I was going to kill you, I wouldn't have bothered to show you the battleframe in the first place, now would I?" He asked. "Besides, you're not the enemy here. In fact..." His mandibles parting in a turian smile.
"How about we work that problem out together?"
Vor'gall raised his right eyebrows quizzically. He was silent as the grave for nearly a full minute.
Finally, right when Haliat thought he was just going to shoot him, he responded.
"If you're offering what I think you are..." he started slowly, "then you should know I'm not some merc. I don't do things for free, and revenge doesn't pay the bills. Epically if I'm putting my life on the line for it, which will happen even if the agent dies." he lowered the muzzle of the gun from his face, but still kept it aimed at his body. "You'd need to make it worth my while."
"Oh, don't worry," Haliat said smoothly. "I'll make you an offer you can't refuse."
PAGE BREAK(0)
The planets night cycle was now half-over.
But still, the recovery of the battleframe persisted.
The salarian researchers were just finishing with the scans, prepping them for overnight analysis while they started dissecting the servos and strange power cell converters recovered from the crushed left arm.
After that, they would set to work on the single most anticipated experiment of their assignment yet -the dissection of the strange, biped corpse found mummified inside the cockpit of the battleframe.
According to records taken from the computer, when the signal beacon was tripped by the expedition, it automatically triggered the cockpit to open, after, according to the log system, forty-eight years and six months in space, forty-six of those years spent in orbit of the planet, and one year and six months on the planet, which was why they had found it open, no doubt an automatic response so that the rescuers could immediately access the cockpit and give aid to the pilot.
It had survived reentry due to the fact that it had crashed during the winter season of this continent, as well as a large metal plate it had been magnetically attached to, which had absorbed most of the heat of reentry, although not all of it, as evidenced by the scorch marks lining the left side. The computer had contained a very primitive V.I., barely even that, but still advanced enough to manage the remaining systems and calculate a safe landing without completely destroying the suit, which was a marvel in itself.
Yion, their xenobiologist, had been fascinated on the anatomy and structure of the biped. According to the initial results, the corpse had been exposed to space for a significant period of time, and the extreme cold and vacuum had subsequently mummified the pilot, destroying basic facial features, but the body structure and organs were intact, which was all Yion needed.
From what they could tell at first glance, the pilot shared many of the characteristics found in batarian and asari biology. The pilot was male gendered, shared similar brain capacity as batarians, but had two eye sockets, like asari, and like both, they possessed hands with four finger digits and one opposable thumb digit on each hand, and five toe digits on each foot. Initial scans showed extremely similar organ, muscle, tissue and bone structure as well, but couldn't say precisely how much without an in-depth dissection.
Which would come after they finished studying the solar-converter system threaded throughout the suit.
As two worked within the tent, the third – a salarian with blue-gray skin and dark maroon eyes, wearing a gray jacket over a black and gray-plated jumpsuit – was busily examining the research notes transcribed on a, curiously, dirty and stained-up datapad.
The amount of data was staggering. Whoever had built this mobile framework had been incredibly innovative in it's design.
According to the schematics recovered from the computer, the frame was capable, through the use of multiple micro-jets and Solar-Powered Ultracompact Energy Battery, to be highly maneuverable, for it's size at least, and able to do so without the use of a mass effect core to reduce it's base mass, which offered greater maneuverability, and was key to all known combat craft in the galaxy. The fact that this craft could mimic that without access to mass effect technology was almost as incredible as the direct-to-energy ion cannon it was armed with. Using hyper-charged ion to create a fully-functional beam weapon, and the innovations in the technology it used – the preliminary scans alone would keep them busy for years.
Every Dalatrass in the Salarian Union would line up for the data, employing any and every cutthroat tactic in and out of the books to get it, and put themselves in a perfect position to take over as the next High Dalatrass of the Union, in being the one to have discovered the most important technological advancement since the asari discovered the citadel.
And Heranon Faltath was making sure one Dalatrass Sothol in particular, came out on top.
Sothol was overseer of the Emergency Special Response division of STG, making her one of the most powerful Dalatrass' in the Union.
And one of the most ambitious.
In two months time, she would enter herself as a candidate for Head Dalatrass. And in order to win, she planned to use the bankroll of the successful new frontier colony, opening up an entire new sector of the galaxy, and take credit for any, assumably prothean, artifacts discovered.
But what had been discovered here would irrevocably shake the known galaxy to the core.
Once the data was secure, Dalatrass Sothol would be regarded as a messiah, who would deliver the galaxy into a new age.
As well as uncovering the turian 'plot' to hide the data from the council, and the 'plans' to use the technology to overthrow them.
He smiled, thinking about how interesting the future was going to be.
He couldn't wait to see it.
He admitted, he was worried about the fact that he was a reserve agent, meant for search and rescue operations, but the Dalatrass was confident that no one else, not even the Spectres, would dare send an agent on the exploration. Meaning no one would catch on till it was to late.
The Dalatrass assured him that she'd made sure that no new rival agents would be on the frigate sent to recover the battleframe. He'd hacked to manifest of the ship, just to make sure, and hadn't found anything in the private files, so it looked like the Dalatrass had succeeded.
Not that he'd doubted her, but he was nothing if not careful, when it came to his own skin.
After Heranon was finished looking over the data, he put the datapad between some exposed roots, then moved to check on Yion and Gern, still in the tents examining the power conduits recovered from the crushed arm's elbow joint.
This was one of the more unpleasant aspects of the mission: making sure there were no leaks.
He had to make sure the scientists wouldn't try to publish any of the data, either publicly, to the council, or even to other Dalatrass'.
He'd taken care of the batarian problem. Now he had to take care of one from his own people.
He didn't like having to kill fellow salarians, but he had his mission to think about.
If he couldn't convince them to support him, and either destroy their data, or join Dalatrass Sothol, he would have no choice.
The mission always had to take priority.
"Yion, Gern, I need to talk to you, it's important." He called out to the tent.
No response.
Heranon frowned. 'odd,' he thought, 'they must be busy with the motivator readouts. They get quite buried in their work.'
"I got a message from the Dalatrass," he said, not quitelying to them, "we have a new priority. We need to discuss it now, so would you please come out."
Still, nothing.
Something wasn't right.
That's when Heranon realized he couldn't even hear their tools running.
His instincts kicked in. something was defiantly wrong.
He pulled his concealed Edge-class predator hand-pistol, and knelt beside the open flap of the tent.
"Yion?" he called out, "Gern?"
Once again, no response.
He fought back the urge to start panicking.
'They couldn't be sleeping, but they didn't come out when I called, and there aren't any other way's out of the tent.'
He kicked a pebble into the tent.
Nothing.
He activated his prototype cloaking field, the opaque shroud forming around his entire body by reflecting light off his kinetic barriers. He edged around the lip of the tent, and peered inside.
The first thing he saw was Gern, laying face down several feet in front of him, his legs obscured by the dented, scorched research table, large puddles of soupy, green-colored salarian blood pooling around his body, from the fission tool protruding from his back, and dripping from the top of the table, where his head had been bashed into the microscope that had once sat there, now in pieces strewn across the table and floor.
Then he saw movement behind the forth of the six tables.
Even an idiot could see what had happened, and only an idiot would wait to strike.
He waited for the other to re-appear, lined up his shot...
He saw a head, torso-
BLAM! BLAM! BLAM!
A pained, surprised grunt, as the shots were deflected by the hostiles barriers, followed by the broken-glass sound that was associated with someone's shields failing.
'strong shields,' he thought, noting how the unknown's barrier had taken three sledgehammer Mk IV rounds to break. 'must be a military operative'
Heranon wasted no time in dashing in, vaulting over the second table and aiming his gun over the top of the forth table, down at the hostile – now reviled to be a turian wearing black armor lined with stripes of gray, with charcoal skin and dark-blue facial markings.
"Don't bother getting up," he warned, "Your shields are down, and by the time they regenerate," he said, lowering the gun to his head, "I'll be too close for it to do you any good, and I won't think twice about killing you if you try anything."
The turian just looked at him, avian indigo eyes meeting amphibious maroon eyes in a silent stare.
"Who are you?" Heranon asked, "and what are you doing here?" he asked, relief washing over him now that the threat was under control.
Again, the turian said nothing, simply staring at him.
"If you don't answer, I will shoot you," he warned, emphasizing the point by pushing the barrel of the gun further to his forehead.
The turian, seemingly oblivious to the lethal weapon inches from his head, gave an irritated sigh, which caused the salarian to raise his brow-crest quizzically, before he gave his name.
"Team Captain Duras Haliat," he said calmly, "and you have a name, agent? Or at least I assume you're an agent."
'well, he knows more then I thought.' Heranon thought, slightly worried, 'I'll have to neutralize him, and thankfully, I can plead for ample motive, and probable cause,' he looked at Gern's dead body. He looked around, and saw Yion slumped against the side of the containment tank, holding the fish harvested from the river the team had landed at, meant to be tomorrow's lunch, before the frame had been discovered. There was a messy green smear across the tank, and more covering Yion's shoulders.
Heranon didn't take any bets on him being alive.
"So," the turian asked again, "You're...?"
Heranon sighed, but answered him anyway. At least he would have satisfaction in knowing who killed him.
"I am Lieutenant Heranon Faltath, Emergency Special Response Division, STG."
"Emergency Special Response?" Haliat questioned, "You mean reserves, for rescue ops? What qualifies you for this, then?" he asked curiously.
Heranon sighed again, a hint of irritation in his voice now. "Normally, yes, we specialize in rescue work, but the Emergency Special Response Division is trained for all emergency situations," his eyes narrowed at the turian, "including emergency wet-work and field decisions, and especially for times of sudden conspiracy, like this."
Haliat raised a brow-plate questioningly. "Times of conspiracy?" he repeated, a slight chuckle in his flanged voice, "You really are a paranoid bunch, aren't you?"
"Oh?" Heranon questioned, "And how would you interpret this?" he said, gesturing around the ruined temporary lab, and to the two blood-soaked salarian bodies.
"I'd call it how we act in times of conspiracy, since it was your people stealing data from us."
"You were the ones who started it," Heranon warned, "you were planing to keep the data for yourselves and hide it from the council."
"And you weren't?" Haliat shot back calmly.
Heranon blinked. "We would release the data in intervals, so as not to disrupt the balance of power in the galaxy-"
"Which is no different then what we were planning to do," Haliat said, cutting him off. "The only problem is that you lot don't like the idea of being the ones behind another race," he accused, "There's no other reason for this bloodshed other then that you're jealous you don't have custody of the 'artifact'.
Heranon sighed. "Does it even matter now?"
"It matters," Haliat replied steadfastly, "since you murdered Ro'sholl Bakkel for the datapad he had, which I assume he took from you. For the same data you stole from us first. The data that was recovered from the computer we found on the mummified corpse inside the battleframe."
He paused. "The one detailing schematics on how to maintain the technology of the frame. That could be used to replicate it. Which you plan to use to gain the upper-hand over all the other races. And that you're obviously planning to kill me for it, too."
Again, Heranon blinked in surprise. 'he knows far to much. And how? And has he reported to his superiors about this yet? The time it would take to arrange that many-' his mind went on, calculating the multiple possibilities and how he would report back with them.
Finally, he decided to wait until after he had finished with the problem at hand.
"And how do you know what was on the datapad?" he questioned, "It could have been sensitive information to the salarian government, and could have threatened the entire galaxy."
"Did it justify killing in cold blood?" Haliat asked, his voice never losing it's calm.
"If you are referring to the batarian, I had no choice in the matter. There's no way he would have kept what he had found to himself. He would have sold the information no matter what we paid him, and he would have kept requesting money forever."
"Wouldn't that be better in the end, compared to the flags you'd raise by killing him?"
"Only a fool depends on the word of a criminal race like the batarians, and doing so is even greater folly then trusting a krogan with an armed warhead."
Haliat parted his mandibles in the turian equivalent of a smirk. "Like I said, you really are a paranoid bunch, aren't you?"
"Enough," Heranon said, getting tired of playing games with the turian. "Just tell me why you attacked the scientists, when you're quarrel was obviously with me."
Haliat shrugged, "Honestly, I thought they were STG as well, and besides," he smirked again, "I needed to lure you out somehow."
"You could have taken them hostage, instead of just killing them."
"And you could have done the same with the batarian," Haliat countered.
"like I told you, only an idiot trusts a race like that."
"And when it comes to salarians, you can never tell when one is a spy," Haliat said, a tone of smugness leaking into his voice. "You partner didn't look it, but he could fight as fierce as a varren."
Heranon froze at that, trying to hise his shock. "What?"
Haliat looked at him. "Your partner."
"Liar," Heranon said, "I don't have a partner."
Haliat gave a look of mild surprise. "You mean... you didn't know? Huh... I guess even salarian can't tell which of themselves are spies either."
"Stop it," Heranon said, more forceful this time, "I know you're lying. If either of them had been STG as well, I would have known."
"Don't believe me, check his omni-tool log." He pointed to where Gern still lay on the ground.
Heranon still didn't move. "I am not stupid. As soon as I go to check on him-"
Anything else he had to say was cut off, as across the room, Yion's supposedly dead body jerked, throwing his head up and uttering a deep, pained gasp.
Heranon twisted his head in shock, and even the seemingly unbreakable calm demeanor of Haliat faltered a bit, his eyes widening in surprise.
"What?" Heranon gasped, instinctively moving a foot towards the injured salarian.
And in that moment. Heranon knew he had made a fatal mistake.
Salarian brains process thought faster then any other citadel race, but one millisecond can still be fatal.
For when Heranon focused on the injured Yion, he broke the cardinal rule in STG: never let personal feelings get in the way of the mission, and always focus on your target -no matter what, the mission must come first.
No matter how fast your thought-process' are, that one millisecond is all that is needed to turn an under-control situation into a disaster.
And that millisecond had just come into view for Haliat.
As soon as he saw Heranon move his foot and turn his head away, he swung his arm out, knocking away Heranon's gun from his head, and, moving faster then any common soldier should, grabbed the salarian's wrist and twisted sharply, resulting in a loud, wet, sicking SNAP!
Heranon screamed in pain, the gun falling from his slackened grip, but still managing to swing his left leg out, making full contact with Haliat's stomach, causing the turian to groan and stagger backwards, as Heranon fell to his knees, clutching his broken right-wrist.
His brain working thought-process' quickly, pulled out a painkiller and stabbed it into his arm, the dulling numbness reducing the pain drastically, letting him block out the pain as best he could, then reached into his coat with his remaining hand, and pulled out a short, finely sharpened dagger.
How the turian had reacted so quickly severally worried him, but he had to wait till after he was dead to think about that.
Haliat saw the knife, grabbed a nearby chair, and swung it down on the salarian agent, who deftly rolled under it, landing on his knees and driving his foot into the back of the turian's thigh, knocking him off balance and sending him to the ground.
Shakily, he got to his feet, and moved over the turian, raised his blade high-
BLAM!
and fell back to his knees, screaming in pain as an intense pain shot through his left forearm, a gunshot-round drilling a hole clean through it, causing him to drop the dagger onto the ground.
Now Heranon was on the verge of panicking. His right hand was broken at the wrist, and his left arm had a gunshot through the forearm, breaking a bone.
He was helpless.
Haliat straightened back up and walked over to Heranon, who tried to scurry away, but had trouble without any hands. But Haliat ignored him, bending over and picking up the dagger, then moving to recover the gun.
"Nice shot," he called out, as he folded the salarian's gun into standby mode.
The entrance flap to the tent pealed back, revealing a batarian, clad in a dark red and gray work uniform, and lightly armored maroon overclothes, a pistol held firmly in his right hand, and a dark look on his face.
"No problem," he said, "It was a pleasure." He walked over to Heranon, hissing in pain from the new wound in his arm. Hearing someone approach, he looked up, only for the batarian to pistol-whip him, breaking the bone in his cheek, and crushing the layers of cartilage in the left side of his face, sending him to the floor, hissing and seething, doing all he could not to show weakness to his enemies.
"That was for Ro'sholl, you son of a bitch." he said, voice dripping with malice.
"Steady, Vor'gall." Haliat warned, striding over to the wheezing, half-dead Yion, still desperately clinging to life.
"I don't want to kill him yet." he said, calmly taking out his black M-6 Carnifex Hand-Cannon, and levering it at the salarian's head.
"let me confirm something first. After that..."
BLAM!
Yion slumped to the side, a clean hole drilled into the left side of his forehead, right above the brow.
"Then you can kill him. I promise."
"I will never tell you, or your thug anything." Heranon said, trying to keep fear out of his voice. Vor'gall was about to retaliate, but Haliat put his hand up, saying "let me do the talking on this," to which Vor'gall nodded reluctantly. Satisfied, the turian turned back to Heranon.
"I said don't bother. I won't say anything to compromise myself."
Haliat made a "Tisk, tisk, tisk" noise through his lips, "You shouldn't be so sure about the future. After all, you said yourself that you were Emergency Special Response, a reserve, put in an emergency position you weren't fully trained for. It's not fair that that your superiors expect so much of you, when you aren't really trained for wet-work and assassination."
Haliat then drove his foot down on the gunshot wound in Heranon's left arm, causing the salarian to scream in pain.
"You really going to die for the agenda of some Dalatrass?"
Heranon froze.
"How do you know it was a Dalatrass, and not the Union?" he asked, shaking his head, trying to ward off the black spots on the edge of his vision, no longer trying to hide his fear.
"I don't." Haliat said, "but nether does anyone else. And that can be bad when you don't know if your enemy is one rouge element, or an entire government." He knelt down, looking Heranon in the eyes.
"What would the council do, I wonder, if they thought the Salarian Union decided to go behind their backs, and send an STG agent, who not only murdered a batarian member of their charting group, but a rival agent and top scientist as well, before he was stopped?" He again smirked, "What do you think the response will be? Open war? Censorship? Internal conflict as the Dalatrass' kill each other off, trying to find who caused this mess and scapegoat her, before the batarians come breaking down their front door? So many possibilities, he closed in further, Heranon feeling the turian's breathing on his face.
"And all because we don't know whether it was the Union being extremely sloppy," He paused.
"Or a power-hungry Dalatrass that was so ambitious, she sent a junior agent out, overconfident that no one else would be sent to keep tabs on this expedition."
That got Heranon's full attention. How he talked about "no one else"...
"I...I knew it... I knew you... you moved... too fast to... just be a grunt." he said through clenched teeth and labored breath, fighting the urge to black out from the pain and blood loss.
"who... who are you... really?"
Vor'gall watched Haliat as well, something in his eyes showing he, at least somewhat, suspected something else about the turian as well.
"does it matter now?"
"I demand to know!" The salarian yelled, in an uncharacteristic fit of anger. "I DEMAND to know! I want to know who sent you here, and why, because you are NOT a common soldier, and don't insult me by saying you are!" he yelled, his vision blurring from the strain on his injured body, " at least give me that small dignity before you kill me!"
Haliat straightened up, his overall demeanor having darkened considerably. For several seconds, he said nothing, staying still as a statue.
Finally, he took a breath in, then out.
"I.." he started, "am Captain Duras Haliat, Turian Blackwatch Special Forces Unit." he said coldly, his posture now so ridged, only years of service and experience in intense turian Black-Ops missions could have made it so. "I serve my primarch and the Hierarchy he stands for." he looked down on the salarian with a mixture of pity and disgust. "And I would have gargled liquid polonium before I sent a raw recruit on a wet-work mission like this. Your Dalatrass should have prepared for any and every situation. And I thought salarians were supposed to be the masters of espionage."
He grabbed Heranon by his cranial horns, and jerked him upwards, ignoring the cry of pain the salarian emitted.
"You weren't even able to figure out one of the others was another SGT agent."
He walked over to Gern's body and knelt down, firmly grasping Heranon's stolen knife, and started to cut into Gern's arm, removing the small, armored data-chip that served as the physical form for an omni-tool, from the implanted omni-tool sheath, just beneath the skin.
"Only an agent, or someone with something to hide would implant the tool into his arm. True, it's more convenient to access, but expensive, and harder to maintenance, then the standard usually built into clothes." He slid it into the sheath on his right arm, hooking the unit to his own omni-tool.
"lets read these logs," he said, "and see for ourselves. Together."
Heranon read them as best he could, forcing back the blurriness to see for himself what had been hidden from him, and to see if the turian actually was right.
PAGE BREAK(v)
When Heranon had finished, he slumped down, head bowed and will broken.
What he'd read...
It was far worse then anything the turian could have thought up on his own.
"Well, well, well," the turian said, surprise evident in his voice, "this is interesting..."
Vor'gall had gone out to look for where the salarian had hidden the datapad, but he had stayed long enough to see what was on Gern's omni-tool as well.
And had left the tent laughing at the cruel truth behind the salarian's mission.
"According to this," Haliat said casually, "You were to acquire the data, deliver it here..."
He smiled cruelly, "And then Gern was to kill you, and say you were a rouge agent, finding the data "destroyed" by the traitor, just before he heroically killed the rouge agent -you-, proving he wasn't true STG, in how sloppy he was."
Heranon said nothng. He just stared morosely at the ground.
"So in other words, you were chosen for this specificity because you were so inexperienced in the field, just so that you could get caught, and the data disappears without a trace, to this Dalatrass Sothol, to help with her little power trip," he chuckled.
He walked up the the broken salarian.
"Your pathetic," he sneered, "And now, I'm finished with you."
No sooner then he said that when a round suddenly blew through the back of Heranon's skull, the salarian's body twitching once before falling face-down on the ground, eyes dead long before the shot killed him.
Haliat stared down at the body, then back at the omni-tool data his own was processing.
"Well..." Vor'gall said, the still-smoking gun aimed at where Heranon's head had been moments ago, "that was... satisfying."
"I'm sure," Halait said, still looking over what he'd found on Gern's omni-tool drive. "However, I thought you killed that scientist over by the tank?" he asked. "Or was that intentional?"
Vor'gall shrugged, "He made a good distraction, when he woke back up. Just needed a light current from a split wire, or... a shock from an overclocked stun module on an omni-tool." He smiled deviously.
"While I applaud your creativity, I would have appreciated being told about your plan." he said. "things could have gone very, very wrong."
"You didn't tell me everything either," Vor'gall replyed, "like how you were Black-Ops."
"I told you after we took down the first one." he said, gesturing over to Gern's dead body.
"Only because you couldn't explain how you took down that guy in hand-to-hand! And because you didn't think I would be able to see it!"
"Well, would you have trusted me to get to this point, and see what the salarians were planning if you did know?" Haliat asked.
Vor'gall stared at him, then let out a sigh. "No, probably not."
"Exactly. I kept you in the dark only until after I could prove what the salarians were doing." he looked at Vor'gall. "Wouldn't you have done the same?"
Vor'gall raised his hands up in surrender, "All right, all right," he said, "but now it's over, right?"
"Yes," Haliat said, closing the omni-tool, "and as promised, I'll keep my end of the bargain."
he then walked over to the table at the very back of the tent, where the pilot's body had been stored.
"I'll let you take the datapad with the battleframe designs, as payment for stopping this plot, and for keeping quiet about it, with full clearance to take it back to the Hegemony, to help co-produce our future models, after the first prototype is tested, and to produce your own versions," he turned back to the batarian and cast a meaningful glare at him, "provided you work in conjunction with the citadel council, not reveal yours until at least three months after our own and give exclusive trading rights to the Turian Hierarchy."
"Don't worry." Vor'gall said, a wide smile arched across his face, tilting his head to the left, batarian body language that was meant as a sign of respect, "I wouldn't do anything to jeopardize the deal that will make the Hegemony capable of rivaling every other race out there, not to mention make me the richest batarian in Hegemony space."
Haliat smirked, "I'm sure you won't. My commander is named Desolas Arterius. He'll contact your government on behalf of the primarch, after you return to finalize the terms of the deal." He handed Vor'gall a datacard.
"There's a shuttle on board that will get you through the relay in this cluster that connects back to batarian space. You're people will be waiting for you."
Voe'gall nodded and took the datacard, then turned and left the tent, giving a final farewell as he walked to collect his shuttle, saying "I think this is going to be a very profitable relationship."
Haliat turned back inside, heading to where the battleframe pilot still lay inside a sealed body bag, chuckling to himself.
"Indeed, it will."
He switched the light on, and carefully unzipped the bag, revealing the pilot's body, mummified in his own space-suit from being flash-rozen in deep-space, before his makeshift tomb was remotely unlocked by the beacon they set off, the computer trying to make it easier to rescue the pilot it wasn't smart enough to realize was already long dead.
He remembered how Vor'gall had been disgusted by the pilot, asking how such a primitive looking race, not even having four eyes, could possibly have been the builders of something like the battleframe.
He almost made a comment about how many thought the same about batarians, but decided against it for obvious reasons.
It had been a chore to ensure everything went to plan:
killing the STG agents...
getting the batarian to believe him...
planting the knife in Ro'sholl's back to incriminate the salarian, after he'd taken the real murder weapon with him.
That had been hard, yes, but it had all been worth it.
He chuckled to himself, before turning to head back to his own camp, activating his own omni-tool as he did.
"This is Captain Duras Haliat," he said, still smiling.
"Mission Accomplished"
CHAPTER END
Wow. Long chapter.
Sorry it's mostly filler, but I have to get it out of the way.
Next chapter will introduce the turian mobile suit prototype.
Once again, reviews, no matter what they say, as long as they are honest opinions, are welcome.