.
Two Kinds the Same
Chapter VII.
HOTSHOT
SAIA HQ, London, Earth [Solar System – Local Cluster] – 14:25 UTC – 2182.11.11 CE
"If you stumble upon Kingsley, how will you legitimate it?"
The air felt tight in O'Bryan's office. Waiting for him in the anteroom at the secretariat hadn't helped to alleviate his nerve, but the Lieutenant Colonel's accusing demeanour, which seemed to be fossilized as his trademark, made these sessions more stressful for Kevin than what he would have asked for.
"My legend doesn't exclude the possibility to visit Alliance institutions. I don't need to explain anything to him."
"Or we can send someone else to deal with the police."
"Yes, but that's only the half of it. I need to see my source as well. She contacted me having info for me relating Operation Offshoot."
"But I assigned you to the turian Spec Ops delegation, if I'm correct." O'Bryan's eye snapped at Kevin.
"Erm..." it just struck Kevin that the illusion of choice Roland had presented him about tending the aliens had been decided well before he said yes. "Yes, but this meeting is urgent and bound to date. My agent won't meet anyone else."
"Feather is the source of SAIA, not yours."
"I understand that, but Feather has her rules, too..." he started but realized halfway through his sentence that he had just flaunted the red rag before the Lt Colonel.
"Then it's time to tell her who is in charge!" he barked.
Sometimes he thought that the Lt Colonel felt it his duty to chew their asses only to keep their awareness awake – out of pure benevolent caring as their Head of Division – however, he would have gladly given up on the complementary nerve-training.
Kevin felt his position wasn't the strongest right now; he needed an evasion – fast!
"...yes, you are absolutely right. I mean that's why I wanted to ask your opinion before going any further with the case."
O'Bryan's features seemed to soften slightly as he had not expected the officer backhand agreeing him.
"After the last job on Bekenstein I considered your words, boss," He peered up at O'Bryan to see the glint of satisfaction on his face, "and I wanted to let you know that Officer Cameron from Division 3 showed interest towards taking over the source codenamed 'Feather' from us. I thought it would take the weight of agent handling off of our shoulders and we could keep working relying merely on the info from Division 3... Or even transfer the whole case to them – you remember how much they wanted us to draw them in..."
"No, I don't remember."
"Erm…" was the only thing came to his mind. "There was even a… request for introspection filed by them not long ago. Maybe the file just hasn't arrived yet…"
O'Bryan kept staring at him with piercing eyes, nodding ever so slightly. Kevin grabbed the chance that he didn't interpose again and carried on quickly:
"So, alternatively we've made some rearrangements of our resources to make our tradecraft more effective while we could also keep our assets for ourselves – if that's your order."
Kevin squared his shoulders and stared into space with the straightest face he could possibly pull. O'Bryan was mulling over a reply. He started to fiddle with a few datapads and put his styluses back into their case nice and orderly, before saying a word.
"So they filed a request?" he mused, casting his eyes on the officer making him start feeling inconvenient. "If Division 3 wants their own sources, they should start procuring them! We are not a charitable division!" His index finger's tip contacted the dark, glossy surface of his table firmly.
Kevin tentatively raised his eyes on O'Bryan. They were regarding each other like this for a while.
"Meet Feather, get her info, but tell her this was the last time she worked for us if she keeps up her obstinate attitude!
"Aye, sir!"
"And Blauhorn..."
"Sir?"
"Cut her bonus to get the message through."
Kevin nodded and left promptly as he was dismissed.
Wasting no time he headed immediately to Montgomery, but before anything else he slowed his steps to flick his omni-tool open: not long after the dial tone he was already in line; a man answered his call.
"Cam? Dean Cameron?" Kevin started. "Hello man! Do you remember that request you filed last week in haste? I was just warned that the reference number should be changed to XCO-346424/2182..."
"Ah, you mean the one on Agent Maus' reports?" the man on the other side asked.
"Yeah!" Kevin said keenly "Are you in office by the way? Just because if you change it like... within ten minutes, chances are that it gets through today!"
"Well, thank you for the heads up Kevin! I'll be done in a minute! What was it again?"
He repeated the code two more times, making sure his colleague could scribble it down correctly.
"Awesome! You are welcome! And Cam, remember: don't include names in the request, will you?"
"Okay… Why not?"
"It's just some administrational stuff; reclassifying the dossier… leaving the names out would speed things up – I'll know who you mean anyway since our discussion, so..."
"Okay. I'll send the request in a sec, Kevin. Byes!" Cam said hurriedly hanging up, presumably to make the amendments to his RFI.
As Kevin's omni-tool went to standby again, he rounded a corner on the corridor then headed downstairs. He approached the office with haste when a short chime made him stop in his tracks. Before entering, he glimpsed at the pop-up screen appearing on a minimized projection just above his wrist.
'Incoming Request [from: Division 3; subject: Dossier Feather; reference: XCO-346424/2182] – Pending Signature from Head of Division.'
He mentally patted himself on the back with a satisfied smile creeping across his face. He swiped the notification away and palmed the green-lit button in front of him. The door slid aside.
Montgomery's eyes flitted at the officer coming in.
"We are going to talk about this," he said to Torres who had been leaning against one of the chairs – now eyeing Kevin as well.
"Just an offer; think about it," Gerard flared his hands, pushing himself off of the back of the chair and making tracks for the door.
"I'm sorry if I interrupted, I can come back later," Kevin halted.
"We were already finishing." Montgomery raised a hand snubbing his excuse. "What is it? Have you talked to O'Bryan?"
"I'm coming from him," he jabbed a thumb behind. "We're good to go."
The Major's thick black brows shot up, not disguising his surprise "That was fast! What did you tell him?"
"Merely used my personal charm." He yanked his collar with a cocky smile. "Oh, by the way... Roland, I'm expecting a request from Division 3. Could you please forward it to me ASAP when it gets through the boss?"
"Yeah, sure," he promised. "Kevin, talk to Sarah and get your travel arranged. You are leaving tomorrow. Give yourselves enough time to cover your asses this time."
"Roland, you know that we did what we could..."
"I do, but you know what the boss is like..."
"Yeah, yeah I know," he smirked.
SAIA HQ, London, Earth [Solar System – Local Cluster] – 16:20 UTC – 2182.11.11 CE
He was walking on coarse gravel; each step crackling into the chilly air. With hands tugged deep into his pockets and his head swathed in his scarf under his service jacket's hood his impression could have been that it was all silent out there... until he noticed his own aloofness – the recognition immediately awaking to the ambient buzz of the distant city centre; the cacophony of whirring tyres, whizzing skycars, drones and airliners, ongoing construction works, wailing sirens all tamed into an even, soothing hum, blending into the background almost naturally for the average Londoner. He was not sure if the irregular fluctuations were due to the change of winds or the hollering spectators of the nearby Wembley Stadium.
He was still looking for a valid reason that also himself could believe why he found it suddenly so important to head to the firing range when he had enough things to do, such as preparing for his next-day travel. Ante was escorting the turians the whole day, but Kevin proffered Erceg – well, more like 'insisted' – that he would take it over from him after 16:00, so he could rest. Of course, Ante was not keen on giving up the evening assignment as it counted into his over hours, while practically did not mean any real fostering to do.
By the time he reached the complex he felt starkly convinced that he had no valid reason to be there.
However, at least it was not raining.
He cut a corner by hopping over a puddle of mud and sidled up to the massive brick wall of the shooting range. A series of shots rattled through the ventilation shaft above his head, while it was steadily blowing out bland clouds of warm air as he walked by.
He went through the main entrance, passing a pile of scuffed metallic beams amidst some heap of castoff wires and yellow barrier tapes. Panels were still missing from the walls and surplus buckets of paint, spray-pistols and other equipments from the renovations were scattered all over the place, visible through open doors on the corridor.
He finally arrived at the reception area. With the dim lights the windowless hall felt like the whole place had been vacated. However through several layers of walls fitted with observation windows he caught some activity. A figure shifted in its stance and suddenly bluish flashes lit up the place...
"Not bad."
"Tell me something I don't know," Zaalia said wryly to Corporal Efrux.
"Okay. Your last shot was out of the head."
"What?!" She squinted in disbelief until she caught one single hole on the cardboard that was indeed right outside the margin of the rectangle, which indicated the brain of the humanoid silhouette.
"Still looks fairly painful to me," a third voice put in gingerly.
They both turned to the liaison officer.
"Evening," he added with an awkward wave of a hand – his mind occupied with how close he should approach the practicants at the firing line. In short: he had suddenly noticed how clueless he was about range protocol.
"Sporting such a nice hole you would feel no pain anymore, Lieutenant. How may we help you?"
Actually, I came to ask the same – he thought, feeling cheated by Efrux' advance.
"Unfortunately the daily tread wheel ground me in, so I wanted to make sure if the session went good in retrospect." He rubbed his neck self-consciously.
Engrossed in his case most of the day, Kevin missed the official opening of the exchange programme, which took place in the main auditorium early morning in the presence of the SAIA leadership. Not that he minded much though; he had partaken in enough events of the kind: the better or worse written greetings and speeches about the fruitful cooperation in the crossfire of forced smiles soaked in formalities were things he could do well without. However, the odd case of the partners being turians this time made him at least partly sorry for missing the opportunity.
Efrux recounted that they had received a positively warm welcome from the Director General and experienced everything word-by-word so far just as they had been promised during the reception: suffering absolutely no needs at nothing.
"We're literally spoiled here, Lieutenant! Thank you for your hospitality."
Kevin nodded a few times wearing a demure smile, but soon after he started eyeing the gun that Zaalia's hand was resting on, clipped onto its holster above her hips.
"Do you hold shooting practices for our guys as well?" He fired away.
"No, I believe if they work here as a Special Task Force, they already know how to shoot. We concentrate on tactics."
"So, you two are just having fun?"
"Well, yes, and nope. We came down to see the equipment and try the weapons you use to get a bit more acquainted," Efrux replied.
"Ah, I see!" Kevin uttered, his brows shooting up in realisation. "Although, I wouldn't say I'm that well acquainted either," he chuckled. "Um, I really wonder though, how pros like you wield the gun, like, properly. Actually I'd be more than happy to hear any suggestions... if you don't mind a bystander," he ventured, peering at the Corporal.
"Oooh, coaching the gun stuff is not really up my street." The turian soldier raised his hands evasively. "I'd let the real specialist shine here." He motioned for the turian woman standing by him, nonchalantly resting her right hand on the pistol's grip and the other on her hip. Her eyes snapped at Efrux as his words sank in.
Zaalia could have sworn she had caught the Corporal sneering before he turned away.
"I'll help the man carry the equipment back to the storage," Efrux yelled, jabbing a thumb towards the other firing lane referring to some unseen person, and with that he excused himself. Zaalia acknowledged his leave with an emphasized blink, staring daggers at the back of the fleeing lanky turian.
"I don't keep you from anything, right?" Kevin glanced at her apprehensively.
"What? No!" Zaalia said with her attention back on the human.
"So, may I?" his eyes fell down to her hips again, where the now box shaped pistol was holstered... And quickly back up! While at that, she had some rather wide hips! And he sincerely hoped that she did not think what he thought he had seemed to be thinking about! But his noble temperance only earned him a rapidly reddening pair of ears and the odd rise in the room's temperature.
"Well, as far as you are allowed to use it?" she looked at him, her brow plates furrowed suspiciously.
Oh come on, I wasn't even looking at her but the gun! All right, think about something neutral. Like wow, those are some flexible facial plates around her eyes...wait... oh my God, she totally noticed!
"Um, yes absolutely! I've got one, too!"
"Okay, although I'm sure your range instructors are very good as well..." she lulled in her speech with what Kevin interpreted as a questioning look.
He nodded cracking a smile of confirmation, and she continued:
"...I can still show a thing or two! I assume you've got your basic training on firearms, yes?" She asked, her voice flanging now with a noticeably deeper and more relaxed trill; like she had finally arrived at her comfort zone.
Not like Kevin; he scratched his scruff with a wince, "yah, but it's been quite a while. You know, I have been purposely trained to avoid using firearms," he explained, earning a clear look of disbelief from the young turian, "shooting a round costs you way too much paper work in the end, and is a last resort that necessarily ruins your long-built cover in an instant! So as they put it down to me at the end of the day: the only valid scenario where you should shoot is like where a pregnant woman is about to be stabbed by a thug; in any other case... do like a pro and run away."
Zaalia noticed that she was gaping at the human.
"Wow, not so cool now, hearing myself saying it," he muttered additionally, more as a side note to himself.
"Erm, as for us turians, all Hierarchy citizens must go through basic training and fifteen years of mandatory service at the armed forces. Thus, we learn quite a bit about weapons and combat..." she would have dragged on with her exposé, but her official manner couldn't hold any longer and suddenly broke down; she holstered her gun and turned full-face to the human. "How the... how did you have such a strong fleet at the first place again?!" she shook her head gazing at the 2nd Lieutenant's not quite peculiarly heroic figure in complete bewilderment.
"Lots of taxpayer-money, I believe?" he ventured with a shrug, but her persistent stare made it clear that she wouldn't let him get away with only so much info, "...but I know what you are getting at. Your society is very militaristic, if I'm correct? In contrary, I believe, what does the magic for us is 'specialization': some things the commando guys do I would not even try – not if my life depended on it! But I also bet many of them would go bonkers if they were to play best pals with shady criminal scum, talk their head off and write reports on it around the clock for their money. 'Do what you like' they said!" he concluded cheerfully. "Though if that was true I'd be a billionaire sipping cocktails aboard the Arcturian Jade now..."
"We do specialise also!" She piped up somewhat defensively. "For example… look at me: I enlisted as a regular like any other rookie. I did boot camp; I did Academy and then transferred to Special Operations. It required dedicated preparation and targeted training to develop specific skills in order to do so!"
"I see, but no; what I meant is..." He casted a cocky peek at her and spread his arms. "Look at me! Would you believe I am a loyal dog of Alliance Intelligence?" he said with a thousand-watt grin.
She raised a brow.
"...loyal dog, you know as in ...loyal varren," he corrected for a more cross-cultural metaphor, while searching her sand coloured mask of cartilage for any thoughts sitting onto it.
Instead, inscrutably she was just gazing at him. She got the notion with the "dog" thing for the first time; that was not what bugged her; her mind was more like revolving around that smug face of this fuzzy headed alien explaining his own inadequacies with a confidence like it was the best laid order of things!
"So yeah," Kevin continued with a sense of renowned assurance after seeing the alien woman's moment of apparent abashment. He almost felt proud for his human ingenuity, making capital of his weakness – even if merely a verbal one.
"…it is that, and also guns are a bit uncomfortable to wear when you are sitting in a car," he imitated a pistol at his waist, "and if you are armed, you are essentially more prone to get into a conflict involving guns, right? Either because you draw first, or because someone else would try to take you out first. It's more hassle than not; but I'm open to other opinions. If you have a good argument, I might reconsider my point," he grinned at the specialist.
She glanced back.
"Having a gun you don't need is way better than needing a gun when you've got none."
The Specialist's brief words rang shamelessly plausible…
"Have you ever shot a gun?" She asked lightly, waking the dumbfounded officer from his momentary freeze.
"What?! But please, of course! I'm in the ranks of an armed service!" He smiled sheepishly.
"All riiight," she uttered unconvinced, measuring him up conspicuously. "Take it then!"
She spun the gun around, holding it by the barrel, and smacked its handle against the human's chest imperatively. He huffed but took the weapon anyway.
"Kessler; they said it's your standard issue sidearm. Show me what you've got," she gazed into his eyes.
He would have loved to smash the high ball with a smartass comeback – given he had not been in the role of the complete novice.
"You want me to shoot?" he asked and she eyed him silently. "You want me to shoot..."
Funny; now that his technique was scrutinized by a professional, the whole act felt much-much more difficult to compose.
His palm was already sweating; he raised his arm, aimed, and his finger slipped onto the trigger, pulling slowly...
"No."
Entirely lost in focusing between the target and the sights, he almost flinched when he felt a resolute touch as she cupped his supporting hand.
"This hand goes up... Close your thumbs side-by-side. There's no point holding the gun with your other palm. Unless it is too heavy for you," she taunted, but in such a benevolent tone that he could not pick it up the least. "The more your hands envelope the gun, the more control you have over it. Providing support on both sides will grant you a steadier aim... see?"
He felt moderately guilty for only paying half his attention to what she was saying, and half to how she was saying it. And as puzzled he stood in his torpid excitement, as absorbed he became in her fragrance as she pulled closer to help with his stance.
Was it her natural scent or something that she wore? He felt giddy at the intimate thought. His mind raced to unravel the enigmatic alien blend of still so familiar substances. The waft aroused acrid, citrus-like yet spicy impressions in him, also hinting a tinge of blunter odours like that of fresh wood or vanilla.
He mused if it was wise to deduce any implications from it regarding her personality. Either way: she used a perfume that he would have gladly put on, too anytime!
"Okay, I see," he nodded in acknowledgement.
His finger wandered back to the trigger, aimed and...pulled. The gun ducked silently with no action whatsoever. After a quick second and third vain attempt he briefly abandoned any further endeavour, accompanied by her soft snicker, which she couldn't hold any longer.
"That's unfair!"
"I'm sorry! I'm sorry." She recanted with what seemed genuine repentance on her face – spiced with some unearthly beaming mirth.
And well, the unearthliness was quite self-explanatory.
She peered through the observation window and quickly checked herself, squaring her shoulders.
"Okay, Lieutenant," she cleared her throat, "switch the s..."
"...the safety! Argh!" He shot his eyes at the ceiling indignantly.
Yeah, it was definitely some sort of stage fright that got the worst of him.
He switched the lever, waited for the familiar hoot as the mass effect field fired up inside the gun and pulled the trigger. In the company of a bright blue flash the smoke trail connected the Kessler's muzzle with the backstop followed by the peculiar, pungent smell of ozone filling his nostrils.
They repeated four more times.
"Don't expect the shot. Let it surprise you!"
"My job is not to be surprised!"
"It makes you flinch. That's why your following shots hit low. Did you see the flash?"
"Good question. Actually, no," he shrugged, completely clueless.
"You have boom-fright"
"Boom what?"
"You shut your eyes at the shot, or when you think it comes..." she explained and seemed to think for a second. "Click the safety!"
She took the gun from him and turned off to the side, fiddling with it out of his sight. When she finished whatever she had been doing, the turian turned back to the officer and returned the gun, instructing him to continue:
"Ready? Up!" She yelled the orders firmly.
He tried his best to collect his thoughts, but it took ridiculously much effort to keep all the bits in check.
He pulled the trigger; the gun jerked forward, tilting down mutely again. His ears grew red in the awkward silence.
"I flinched,"
A satisfied smile curved her lips, holding up the removed battery unit in her hand.
"It's happening because you expect the gun's recoil and you try to counter it. That involuntary move is weak enough to be disguised by the actual recoil, but strong enough just to interfere with your hits."
"Okay…" He stared with a blank face, processing the information, before he focused on the bony mask again. "What?" He frowned questioningly under the accusing scrutiny of the still staring emerald eyes.
"You also blinked…"
A few dozen rounds ended up in the backstop within the next half an hour as the specialist did her best to weed out the most erratic habits of the clumsy human. She patiently called his attention on his mistakes, and helped him to construct his stance and motions for each shot to contribute his improvement – whilst both of them remained completely oblivious to the man in red instructor uniform momentarily ogling them outside the observation glass, when he was not pacing up and down with arms crossed.
"You are getting good."
"Yah, I'm a rough diamond," he glimpsed at her, attentively keeping the laser rule.
"So deep and dull?" she ventured, flashing a lot of teeth!
"That one!" He yelled laughing, both surprised and happy for the turian opening up. "And also so hard-headed!" He knocked at his skull comically.
Kevin was starting to feel the fun side of it as his nervousness subsided, and as the turian woman seemingly became more convinced about his abilities, too to show him some resting and ready positions and simple yet cool moves – leastwise that's how they looked on the Spec Op girl. In the end he finally felt the faint taste of being an insider – a really far-out insider.
"Well, it takes some time and practice until the basics sink in. Once you are comfortable with the recoil and the sound of your gun, and the handling of the weapon becomes subconscious, you can start situational training, which bears the real fun, shall I say. In your case I imagine scenes where you need to draw aim and shoot from concealment – and fast.
"I regret by the time I'd get there your tenure here is over."
"If you don't give up, we might bump into each other at an interstellar shooting competition; and you make me proud," she shot a frisky squint at him.
"Yeah, now I only wonder what arm I should do that with."
"Your Kessler is pretty good for what you got it for. Can you take it home?" One of her browplates shifted up.
"Nah, it's bound to operation."
"Well you could always have your own sidearm..."
That could be cool after all.
"And what would you buy if you were to choose now, Specialist?"
"Well, Lieutenant, I've got a Stiletto mark V."
"How is it different?"
"Feel it," she smirked as she reached to her hip and unslung another gun in its compact form. The arm unpacked itself by the time she slid it into Kevin's palm.
The grip was made of a hard plastic, bearing a coarsely moulded surface, which felt rough at first, but gave the gun a firm grip even when his palm was wet – just like now. He had not given it a deeper thought before, so it also contributed to his surprise that such huge differences could exist between one gun and another when he noticed how more balanced the Stiletto felt against the Kessler, and how more naturally it lay in his grip.
"So what should I get? I really like yours."
"Well, Kesslers are rugged and reliable; I vouch for model VII; I was lucky to try the Razer mark V and VI, too. Their trigger pull is really even and resolute and their build quality is superior – so is their price. But my favourite is my Stiletto; however, they are seldom available outside Hierarchy clients..."
"Excuse me, how long are you planning to shoot? I'd close the place and your colleague said you were finishing… Ah, Frank Coiro, nice to meet you, Ma'am." Eventually, the man in red shirt approached them somewhat uncertainly.
"Hey, yah, we were…pretty much finishing up," he glanced at his alien instructor for an affirmative nod, which she just provided. "We were just talking about my menacingly fast growing interest in firearms."
"Well, that's always a good thing!" The instructor's eyes suddenly started to shine like that of a kid when their favourite super-hero's name is mentioned.
"Yah, I wonder how I could…acquire one?" He mulled the question, suddenly afraid of venturing maybe too deep into uncharted territory.
"Do you have a licence?"
"No," Kevin shook his head, "although I'm licensed to kill!" he jested.
"Heh, yeah well that's a problem... Both of them," the instructor dared a saucy smile. "However, considering you are an officer the paper work would be much faster than for a civilian. You might be good by the time the shipment's here... if I am that good and order the sweet thing for you, but if it stays on me I'll use it to rob you for its price."
"No way I'd let you keep it!"
"We submit our order next week. Of course they will be paid separately from the company, but makes it easier to add some extra items. We order a bunch of Razers and Breaker machineguns from Kassa Fabrication. The guys are looking forward to delivery like Christmas. In fact it's gonna be around that time."
The turian tilted her head, frowning.
"So? Make up your mind if you want to jump on-board! And I say: you want to."
Now, he really wasn't the guy throwing out money on expensive stuff without thinking it over the hundredth time, but in this very moment he felt unusually light headed in the company of these apparently persuasively confident gun maniacs, when he threw his reply in.
"Yeah, sign me up."
The man strode just outside the observation wall and grabbed a datapad, scrolling down a list of equipment.
"That's the talk man! What is it again?"
"A... erm... Stiletto Fabrication model...?" His voice petered out.
"Do you have a Haliat Armory Stiletto mark VI?" she asked, hardly able to resist cracking a wide smile at the Lieutenant's expense.
"You are not helping, ma'am," he muttered.
The man browsed through the items and already served with an answer: "Yeah, we've got it".
"I think I just did," she replied with a toothful smile.
Heathrow Spaceport, London, Earth [Solar System – Local Cluster] – 10:45 UTC – 2182.11.12 CE
Kevin was gazing through the small window; the angular wing of the spacecraft spread out into his view, bearing longitudinal radiator ribs across its surface, with a vectorable thruster fitted on its tip,. He counted four lifters during boarding, the bird seemed capable of both vertical and horizontal take-off and by the look of it, it was propelled by four main fusion torches. However, no thorough inspection of his surroundings could avert his mind from replaying fresh memories of the day again and again:
His stomach was churning. As contended he had felt after the last evening, as concerned he had become now, right before they set out to the spaceport.
He had packed his luggage, prepared his personal gadgets and also popped in to the techs to check the hastily assembled surveillance pack. Once he had got the mandatory brief over the use and updates of the devices, with the assistance of the tech colleague they neatly put the gadgets into the dedicated compartment of his other bag.
Whenever he was off to distant, lasting missions, conferences or just a personal journey he could never get rid of the voice in the back of his head that he had forgotten something. This time was no different from the rest except that the process of hushing the voice was remarkably easier and faster with a new unknown force in play. As it happens, somehow the image of the ongoing training in the building next door entertained his thoughts much more than the haunting demon of leaving something at home.
He was passing by the main auditorium and his pace slowly decreased to an amble as he kept eyeing the frontage until... he found himself loitering by the coffee machine in the anteroom. The door was cracked open; he could hear the murmur of the ongoing presentation as well as the intensifying rustle of the audience as they moved to vacate the hall when Pretonus called in a five minutes brake.
"...then we continue with Specialist Gerumis, who will introduce our approach on dynamic entry in barricade and hostage situations."
You are here to make sure she's alright. That's your job, right?
"Hey guys!" He greeted the operators passing him as they headed for the exit for some fresh air.
Finally he slithered inside against the flow of people to find the Spec Ops lounging by a long table on a slightly elevated podium. Pretonus was sitting in the middle with Corporal Efrux and Zaalia on his right; the specialist handling the holographic projector, while Corporal Gaian and Private Nazario were sat on his other side.
Pretonus was eyeing him as he approached them; he also forestalled him:
"Good morning, Lieutenant!" his voice flanged through the air.
"Good morning gentlemen!" he said loudly. "And lady!" he added, turning to the turian woman who was fiddling with her slides and didn't look up until now.
"Morning," she murmured and returned to her business without much ado. Kevin glanced at her again, but found her entirely dedicated to the interface of the projector.
"I... wanted to make sure if everything was all right. Have you met Officer Erceg in the morning?"
"Yes, we started the day with him. Thank you for your concern, Officer."
"I'm also here for Specialist Gerumis."
Visibly the two most affected persons by his words were Efrux and Zaalia. Demian's brows visibly creased up while the turian female cocked her head curiously.
Realizing the time pressure he hastily explained that he was to see the specialist to the infirmary for the timely check-up. Zaalia politely protested; he politely insisted.
"I'm all right, thank you!" she said, almost instantly chiding herself for the naive thought that it would ever earn her a break among these over-hospital humans.
"Ms Gerumis, I... just feel personally responsible for your injuries to heal adequately;" he continued then so stiltedly that he surprised even himself. "I'd like to have my mind at peace."
"I... thank you, but I'm in the middle of my presentation," she put in simply, yet Kevin had hardly any arguments to top it. "I promise I will see the doctor thereafter," she added eventually having mercy on the trying human just in time when Kevin started to feel bizarrely awkward in his skin, which from the inside started to seem like he was almost begging her.
The problem was that it also seemed like that from the outside. He accepted the promise with a thankful nod and spun around leaving at speed.
Stupid, stupid, stupid...!
"Hey, hey Kevin! What do you think?" Thomas prodded him intently.
"What?" He opened his eyes in a sudden.
"I love these spaceliners! Look at the slick design; feels like a sci-fi movie," Tom beamed with enthusiasm.
He raised his head to assess the spacecraft from his seat. Stylishly streamlined interiors in a combination of beige and blue colours and cobalt blue holographic light-sources established a futuristic atmosphere on-board. A spark of guilt ignited in his chest for not enjoying every bit of the journey as he had to admit the sight was much to his liking.
A wave of vibration shook the hull as the engines ramped up their output.
"Yah, they are awesome," he growled and buried his face back into his palm.
SAIA HQ, London, Earth [Solar System – Local Cluster] – 19:10 UTC – 2182.11.12 CE
"…This is Diana Allers reporting on the Bekenstein protests. Feelings began running high when this afternoon a group of asari and humans climbed to the top of the Police Headquarters building flying a banner "Love is not a Crime". The activists tied themselves to the communications arrays. Police Chief Sayd Harris said the banner and the protestors posed danger both to the equipment and their own life, so they had to be removed. The Chief promised the arrested asari and humans would be released after their ID are verified. Simultaneously the riot police pushed the demonstrators outside of the direct vicinity of the office."
"Thank you Diana, and now the localized weather forecast: /localization: UK, EU/ those who already prepared their thermal coats and gloves were right: things are changing over the next few days thank to the weather front drifting South-West bringing plenty of rain expected to fall during the weekend, covering most of Northern England and Wales in snow…"
"So you've got your own human?" Pretonus put in through the gibberish of the mess hall.
The turians sitting around the table perked their head at the voice of their commander who was now looking at Zaalia with a vague hint of a smile under his mandibles.
"What do you mean?" she queried.
"I'm also here for Specialist Gerumis'… booty," Efrux cooed satirically, only then becoming aware, what he would set loose around the table.
He quickly pulled outside of her arm-range as she snapped a pair of laser eyes at him.
"Just how long you'd had to fight during the Relay 314 Incident to earn such a handsome footman!" Gaian quirked, waking an acrid laughter in the group.
"Oh my, isn't that a dent in your talon! Let me polish it up! Nice and blunt; this is the new human fashion my dear!" Nazario whinnied in a high tone while he was trying to get hold of his mug, which kept dancing away from his uncoordinated grabs.
"You, you piece of dong, you said I should've been friendlier! I did so and now you're ragging on me?" She pointed at Efrux from behind a smile yet the wild glint in her eyes gave away that she was agitated inside.
"Yeah, but I didn't expect you'd seduce poor bloke the minute I look away." he put in with such a straight face, that it worked up Zaalia even more – much to his amusement.
"Or... does he have a turian now?" Pretonus raised one brow plate as he threw up the rhetorical question, then gazing into her eyes inquisitively.
It did not take a whole second to find herself in the doghouse. As much as she loved the guys and the team, she also knew well that any sign of weakness made the rest jumping on the "prey" like wild animals. Not that she could put her finger on a single case when someone had gone too far with the jokes, although the truth was the team – including herself – had never been picky when it came to some raillery.
Still, in an uncanny way, she found it unprecedentedly hard to keep her composure against this pressure tonight. She tried to repel the quirks and come back at them, but she was playing a losing game.
"Kiss my ass!" She threw it at Demian.
"I would!" A hand rose, which belonged to Nazario. Smiling with a silly face earned him only Zaalia glaring down the Private through squinted eyes.
"Apropos of kissing: now it's just become clear why you two bumped your heads together so snugly back on our camp tour."
"He was fixing my omni..."
"Never knew you called yours that!" the raspy voice of Gaian piped up "But then, I can see why you fixed him back in the groin – sorry – in the OMNI later that evening. Am I using it correctly?"
Zaalia snorted with growing annoyance. "You are morons." She rolled her eyes at the infantile puns.
"Well, if the krogan call it a quad... 'omni' makes sense," Efrux shrugged absently, "but I've never been good at xeno-anatomy."
"Your ways of courting always turned me on," Gaian said as if talking to his glass and chugged its purple content all up.
Pretonus was just sitting and casting a pair of hawk eyes at her. The fact he said nothing and laughed none was more than unnerving.
"Can we already call that smooch over your omni 'kissing'?"
She let out a resigned sigh as she shook her head.
"I imagine it would be familiar for your taste, Gerumis!" Nazario propped himself on his elbows mockingly flicking his tongue at the specialist like a reptile.
"Okay it's enough." She pinched her nose, trying to laugh it off but the raging waves of sarky barks didn't seem to wane; they enveloped her head, her mind, coalescing into a boisterous clamour stinging into her brain. Something snapped inside her...
"It's ENOUGH!"
A flush of anger overwhelmed her, creeping across her back from the top of her fringe down to her toes. Her head was throbbing hot, but her hide felt clammy. To her greater dismay a visible shiver ran through her without even a chance to suppress it.
"Damn, sorry, I'm not good," was all she could utter in a thin voice as she rose from the table and stepped away from them.
Efrux kicked his chair back, ready to catch her if she tumbles, but she waved his arm off, still pinching her nose with one hand.
"No," she declined curtly and strode away towards the restrooms.
"I meant… no offense," the slightly drunk form of a remorseful Nazario slumped back onto his place, paddling about his half-empty glass.
She was trying to pace her breathing down, slow and deep, while struggling to close out all the rest: the swishing vent in the ceiling, the erratic humming of a loosely plugged light tube outside the cubicle and the fact that she felt safer kneeling on the dubiously cleaned, damp floor beside the toilet, not to risk a head-to-head race against her revolting gizzard.
She spat into the white ceramic bowl.
How clean this stuff might be? But then, who the hell cares; these bacteria would not recognize me even from a mug shot. Oh Spirits, damn it!...
She chocked her hand against the wall for more support.
Assholes!...I don't understand this human either; so frickin' assertive. Oh yeah, "he can't even shoot a gun". Oh how easy you are, stupid!
She scowled herself, giving the plywood wall an irate smack.
She was warned about this. He is an intelligence officer. Of course he is trying to fool her. She shouldn't even believe a word he says. She shouldn't have lowered her guard at the first place! Or did she? She's taking it too seriously; the guys were just playing her up! Damn it!
A wave of shiver pervaded her as she felt realisation kicking in. Humans are in fact deceptive!
'Look at me...' she recalled the Lieutenant's grinning form.
Heh, he is so frail. She laughed dimly.
…and jerked forward as she hugged the seat, saying an inglorious goodbye to her dinner.