Despite the millions of dialects commonly used in the galaxy, Sanike Dah-Ola couldn't think of a single word to express his feeling of utter relief.
He was sitting on a lounge chair, a glass of fine Thessian honey mead in hand, gazing out at the setting sun of Camala, the sun casting an orange shimmer down the massive lake before him. East of Hatre, the batarian man's hotel was the finest money could buy, the six storey building built on the coast of the Khanshar Lake. This close to the planet's equator, the temperature was almost inherently warm, something Sanike greatly enjoyed after his week and a half spent on the rainy, humid subtropical colony of Judea. Despite being miles from any major city centres, his hotel was relatively close by to the small town of Jardada, meaning entertainment wasn't far away in case Sanike got bored of his current residences' serenity.
The batarian smiled as he sipped at his mead, the sweet, lingering taste of the asari beverage seeping down his throat. Right now, Sanike couldn't be happier. His contract with Dorik was over; all the loose ends of their operation in Falacrine were tied up. The Spectre the boss had used to cover up their tracks was rotting in a C-Sec prison, likely off to the chopping block or a Hierarchy boot camp soon enough. Really, he had never wanted anything to do with Dorik or his scheme in the first place; blowing up his own company's facility had set him back more than he would have liked. However, one does not say no to Dorik Kai-Shan, as the contact that introduced him to the other batarian had told him.
Dorik was powerful; far more than Sanike. He was friendly with Aria T'Loak, The Shadow Broker, and every other powerful entity Sanike knew. If you rejected his offer one of his contacts would hear about it sooner or later, and you would have trouble doing business ever again after that. If Sanike had walked out of Dorik's plan early, Ola-Tan Industries would've become bankrupt very quickly, and Sanike would go from a very wealthy batarian to a very poor batarian quicker than he could say 'pyjak.'
When the Camalan sun finally disappeared beneath the horizon, Sanike downed the rest of his mead, and with a smile, stepped off his balcony and into his large, rectangular penthouse. Flicking on the lights, he closed the blinds on the several large windows at the front, and headed off in the direction of his bedroom, fully intent on getting a well-earned rest after the ordeal with Dorik.
Really, Sanike couldn't have been happier. Which was why he was so infuriated when Dorik burst through the penthouse door, flanked on either side by two of his thugs, clad in jet black armor. For a moment, Sanike was alarmed. Did Dorik want him dead, even after all he'd done for him?
When the larger batarian caught sight of Sanike, he bound forward quicker than Sanike thought possible, careening towards him until the two batarians were within arms distance. With a growl, Dorik slammed the smaller man onto the table, both hands wrapped firmly around Sanike's throat. Cutlery and papers flew off the bar table as Sanike crashed into it, struggling and squirming the whole way.
"You said your men had it under control!" Dorik snarled, tightening his grip on the terrified batarian sprawled out on the table.
"What? What happened?" Sanike choked, desperately trying to escape Dorik's grasp.
"The Spectre broke out! You said your men would have all the prison's exits monitored before the Hierarchy got to him! You said your men were well trained, not a bunch of sloppy amateurs!"
"I said they were the best I could find that weren't wanted in Citadel space! You can't expect me to get Eclipse or Blood Pack onto Teyseri Ward, can you?" Sanike spat out, beginning to go numb from Dorik's chokehold.
After a long moment of consideration, Dorik let go of the smaller batarian's throat. "Fine. Be more careful with who you hire in the future."
"The future?" Sanike panted, sucking in a few breaths in a desperate attempt to stop his head from spinning.
"The turian bastard is out, he'll probably figure out the boss's identity sooner or later. So, you're working for me again, understood?" Dorik snarled, before turning around and thundering out of the penthouse. Obviously, that hadn't been a question.
One does not say no to Dorik Kai-Shan…
Sanike didn't get up from where the other batarian had tossed him. He simply stared at his ceiling's fan as it spun, and spun, and spun.
Despite the millions of dialects commonly used in the galaxy, Sanike Dah-Ola couldn't think of a single word to express his feeling of utter fury.
"Your signal is coming from the Foundations. In trouble now, are we?"
"You could say that."
There was a slight break of static before a response came. "Very well. Stay where you are."
The transmission ended abruptly. For a moment, Decimus wondered how Kesh was going to find him, but then remembered how crafty the salarian bastard was.
Wakesh Sorlon, Kesh, for short, was one of Decimus' most trusted contacts. For the past eight years he'd given Decimus reliable and persistently accurate intel on his targets and objectives, and he was the only person Decimus knew he could call his friend; and the only person he knew he could trust implicitly.
Kesh was former STG; he had participated in many notable operations in his short, yet eventful, career. All of which, in typical STG fashion, were heavily classified. He left the acclaimed group to pursue a career as an information broker; a job which he was exceptionally good at, as he and Decimus had found out.
The former Spectre turned off the omni-tool, setting it down at the foot of Brennus' makeshift bed. The one-eyed turian was awake again, but didn't say a word as he blankly stared at the wall of the container he had made his home. Decimus had meant what he said to the shaken veteran, for the most part. Brennus hadn't done anything wrong, and it had been Decimus' fault and Decimus' alone, that much was true. He was lying when he said he didn't beat himself up about it, however. For months after Leeandras and Allovera were killed, Decimus had been a hollow vessel of regret and guilt. Their lives had been his responsibility, and he failed. Their deaths were on his conscience.
Just like Vannor. Just like the hundreds in Ola-Tan…
Decimus shook his head, trying to avoid these thoughts.
Stop. You'll become like Brennus if you keep thinking like that…
He sighed, looking down at his former squadmate. His eye was still open, fixed on the rusty brown wall of his container. Was the scrawny, shivering turian on the ground what he was bound to become? How long before he snapped too?
His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a skycar, the distinct hum of the engines bringing him back to attention. Kesh had arrived quicker than Decimus had expected. The salarian opened the car's hatch, beckoning for him to get in with a quick nod. Like all salarians, Kesh was tall and wiry, his skin a dark shade of green, contrasting sharply to his bright orange eyes.
"I appreciate the help, old friend." Decimus said to Brennus, before turning towards the shuttle. "Tinatas arp non setarc." It was an old priest's parting from a dead turian dialect. He doubted Brennus knew what it meant, but he'd figure it out eventually.
Brennus didn't say a word in response as Decimus stepped out of his container and into the shuttle. Kesh acknowledged him with another nod, before closing the car's hatch and navigating it out of the tight corridors that made up the Foundations.
"How the hell did you get a shuttle in here anyway?" Decimus asked. Other than the Keeper tunnels, he didn't know of any other entrances to the slum, let alone one big enough for a shuttle.
"I have my ways. Sometimes the Keepers need to bring ships and other larger things down here to melt them down, so there are some larger tunnels. If you know where to look, that is." The salarian replied, in the higher pitched voice typical of his kind.
He says he hates this place, but he knows it better than I do…
"You don't even want to know what's going on?
Kesh laughed. "I already know. In fact, I'm fairly certain everyone knows. Rogue Spectre escapes prison, and is apparently a terrorist threat to human colonies. You're lucky I trust you, Decimus. Anyone else would've turned you in already."
Decimus twitched a mandible. He hadn't expected the story to go public so quickly.
"I would like to know the true story though." Kesh finally said after a moment of silence. They were out of the Foundations, Kesh subtly steering his shuttle into the sea of traffic roaring down Teyseri Ward's main 'highway,' trying as hard as he could not to draw attention to himself. Shuttles coming out of the Foundations usually drew some suspicious looks.
"I was set up, Kesh. The Council sent me to a human colony, saying it was a batarian attack. When I got there, I realized there had never been an attack. All it was was a kidnapping, apparently of someone important. Whoever did it was backed by Ola-Tan industries and a Spectre."
"Another Spectre?" Kesh asked, a surprised look on his face.
Decimus shook his head. "That's where it gets interesting. Someone used my Spectre status to cover their tracks when they broke into the capital."
"And the only ones who could do that would be-"
"Another Spectre, or a Councillor."
Kesh frowned, contemplating what Decimus had just told him. Neither of them said anything for a long while, until Kesh veered the skycar downwards and out of the constant flow of traffic. They landed on top of a small warehouse, surrounded only by a few apartments, most of them looking deserted. Judging by how suddenly Kesh had turned towards this place, it was the safest hiding place the salarian information broker could think of.
They stepped out of the shuttle, hastily making their way into the abandoned warehouse. The building's interior was little more than empty space and a few broken down shuttles, the only notable feature a massive, gunmetal box on the far left of the room. Kesh didn't come here much, Decimus guessed.
When the salarian had turned on all the lights, he scurried over to the metal cabinet, punching a code into the small interface on its left door and pulling it open, revealing a stash of armor, weapons, and various other equipment. With a smile, he turned, tossing Decimus a M-77 Paladin, which he always knew he favored.
"So, what's your plan?" Kesh finally asked.
Decimus scratched the back of his neck, his mandibles clicking in discomfort. "Err…I don't know."
Kesh sighed, leaning against a shuttle and frowning. "Do you have any leads at all?"
"No…"
"No names?"
"Well…no." Decimus looked down at his feet.
"Nothing at all."
"Uh-huh."
There was an awkward silence as Kesh shook his head in disbelief. It lasted at least ten minutes, before Decimus finally spoke.
"Well, there is the data…"
Kesh pushed away from the shuttle he was leaning on, giving Decimus a quizzical look. "The data?"
Decimus sighed. This was probably no good, but he continued regardless. "When I was on Judea, I got some data from the head of Ola-Tan, and sent it to the Council. It might have something in it that could help us."
The salarian scratched his chin. "Important stuff like that is usually kept by the Executor. How do you plan on getting it?"
Decimus shrugged. "I could…break into his office?"
Kesh laughed for a long minute. "Oh, I love it because it's such a terrible idea!"
He chuckled again, before continuing. "Executor Vakarian's office is on the Presidium, probably guarded by a dozen C-Sec guards, and rigged with security cameras so advanced you'd need STG level tech to disable them."
Decimus stepped forward, lowering his mandibles in the turian equivalent of a smile. "Well, good thing we have STG level tech." He said, nodding towards the gunmetal safe.
"The embassies district is pretty much deserted, Decimus. Executor Vakarian is still there, and Ambassador Sparatus is out for a midnight walk it seems. Be careful." Kesh's voice buzzed in Decimus' earpiece, before abruptly cutting off.
He was seated on a bench, head hung low to keep the pedestrians still coming and going from seeing his face. Smuggling himself onto the Presidium was easy enough; while Kesh was supposed to be a simple information broker, he knew how to get past security as well. While the salarian could've forged him a fake ID, Kesh had chosen a much more unpleasant way of getting past the Presidium's sensors. He loaded his shuttle with Sur'Kesh Slysen fish, a delicacy on the salarian homeworld, known by the other races for its positively putrid scent. The C-Sec investigator who had searched his shuttle didn't have the stomach to dig through the stinking pile of fish to find that Decimus was buried beneath it.
Crafty bastard…Decimus thought, with what could've been a grin.
Seeing as Decimus' face was known to the public as the face of a criminal, Kesh had taken the time to change his appearance slightly as well. Skin pigments didn't work as effectively for turians as they did for humans or asari, but after a few tries, they had managed to change his charcoal-black carapace into a more greyish color, and had temporarily covered up his clan markings with dye the same color as his skin. To help stay incognito, he decided to wear a long, black coat instead of armor.
The Presidium was in its night cycle; the sky was dimmed, and the usual clouds and sun displayed on the massive ring's roof were replaced by a moon and stars. However, night on the Presidium wasn't quite as dark as night on, say, Palaven. While it would help, he couldn't rely on the darkness as a place to hide.
After a long sigh, Decimus rose to his feet, making his way across the walkway leading to the Embassies. The main lobby was deserted, but the receptionist would be back eventually; the Embassies were open at all times, but not the offices or bar they shared the building with. It was now or never.
Moving fast, Decimus darted towards the stairs on the left side of the lobby, running on his toes to avoid making any unnecessary noise. Just when he reached the top of the long staircase, the receptionist came back, settling down in her desk with yawn. When Decimus was sure the asari wasn't watching, he continued on his way.
After creeping up one last staircase and through one last hallway, he settled down next to the door which would open to the Executor's office. Kesh had tapped into the security cameras and created a false report of trouble nearby, luring the C-Sec guards away to assist. All that stood between Decimus and the Ola-Tan data was the Executor. Decimus had no intention of killing him, but the old turian was tough; he'd attack him on sight, and Decimus would need to defend himself.
Listening in, he could hear two voices coming from the office. Swearing to himself under his breath, leaned in closer to the door. He hadn't planned on two people being in there.
"How do you think Karden is taking all this?" Decimus recognized the voice as Ambassador Sparatus.
"I don't know. When he dropped off this data he seemed pretty broken up about it." Came the deep, raspy voice of Executor Vakarian. "Serves him right, I say. Spectres are nothing but trouble. He should've expected it."
"Doesn't your son want to be a Spectre?" Sparatus replied.
Executor Vakarian snorted. "Garrus? Yeah. He's as likely to become a Spectre as he is to date a damn quarian, or a human."
"You should be easier on him. He's still young. He'll come around."
Decimus heard a chair shuffling, and papers being gathered. They were leaving, he guessed.
"I'll see you tomorrow, Executor." Sparatus said as the office door opened. Vakarian grunted, and Decimus held his breath as the turian ambassador walked past him, and down the stairs without a sideways glance. The Executor, however, lingered.
It would be simple, Decimus. You could go in, kill him, and get the data. Nobody would see you.
Decimus almost considered his conscience's advice. It would be simple, that much was certain. While the old turian was tough, Decimus doubted he could take a well-trained Spectre.
Didn't you hear him talking? He's got a son. A family. You kill him and little Garrus grows up without a father.
Decimus found himself nodding at the other voice chiming in his head. He wouldn't let the Vannor case happen again. He couldn't. Inhaling, he waited a few minutes longer, until the Executor hobbled out of the room, and like Sparatus, didn't notice the other turian crouched in the shadows.
When he was sure he was the only one in the area, he slipped into the office. There wasn't much in the room other than a few chairs and a desk, with a monitor placed on top, still glowing to indicate it was in standby. Decimus clicked it on, scrolling through the various reports and case notes till he found the one labeled 'MAXUSDECIMUS/30/12/65.' After a quick glance around the room, he began transferring the files to his omni-tool.
The data transfer took about two minutes, much faster than the first time he'd stolen this data. When the monitor beeped to indicate it was complete, he stowed his omni-tool back into his coat pocket and made his way to the exit. He would give these files to Kesh, and see what he'd find.
Hopefully this wasn't for nothing…
He hadn't gone two steps when the silver door slid open, two men, both turians, standing in the doorway. Judging by their lack of uniform, they weren't C-Sec; and judging by the fact their weapons weren't drawn, they weren't expecting him.
When they caught sight of him, the taller turian pulled out a pistol, aiming it at Decimus' chest. Acting on instinct, Decimus ducked, the turian's shot soaring over his head with a long choo. Diving forward, he threw a sharp punch to the turian's stomach, making him double back in pain. Realizing his partner had his weapon drawn as well, Decimus lunged at him, grabbing the gun in his hand and pointing it away from him, delivering a hard blow to the turian's carapace with his elbow. Despite the natural 'armor' all turians possessed, Decimus heard something break. The man toppled over, unconscious.
The other man ran forward, unsheathing a knife and charging at him with a roar. Decimus sidestepped, grabbing the man's wrist and delivering a hard jab upward with his free hand, breaking the turian's arm. He cried out in pain, dropping the knife, which Decimus caught and threw aside, before lunging forward with a strong uppercut, breaking his jaw and knocking him backwards, unconscious.
Panting, Decimus rolled one of the unconscious turians over. They had no C-Sec uniform, and after a quick search, Decimus realized they didn't have a badge or identification on them either. To add to that, they were using human-made Hahne-Kedar handguns, not the M-77 like all C-Sec officers were issued.
Somebody else must be after this as well…
