Crichton lingered on the threshold to the cockpit, watching the asari for a few moments. She had disappeared into the main cabin following the heated exchange with the krogan for nearly an hour – until the ship started beeping at them with proximity warnings - heralding their approach to the Relay.
He found himself on unsure footing with her – not surprising really, seeing as how he didn't even know her name – yet she hadn't demanded an explanation for his actions or even hesitated to help him get out of a potentially incriminating situation.
She's either very naïve, or very confident in herself, he mused, leaning more toward naïve.
"I can hear you breathing," she interrupted his thoughts, glancing back at him over her shoulder.
Shit. "Sorry –"
"We should talk," she interrupted, returning her attention to the flight controls. "I'd like to know who you are, and what you were doing back there."
He frowned a bit at her tone. She seemed tense, more so than before they left. Perhaps she's still pissed at the krogan, he guessed. "Alright," he approached the pilots chair and leaned a shoulder against a bulkhead to her right, crossing his arms as he watched the void beyond.
"Are you a mercenary," she asked, her voice neutral again.
"Not quite," he paused, "but I've run with a few."
He watched her nod, her jaw bulged as she clenched her teeth. "I have…issues with mercenaries."
No shit, he thought, "I noticed," he said instead. "You're not subtle about it."
She nodded curtly. "I have good reasons for my actions. I cannot say the same for yours."
He chuckled at that.
"Did I say something amusing?"
"Your very direct," he observed, turning to lean his back against the wall and face her fully. "Most people try to get to know someone before they start flinging judgements or assumptions about. For instance – it's usually good form to introduce yourself first – so, hello there, I'm Michael Crichton," he waved slowly at her.
She fixed him with a hard look, brows knitted. "Are all humans so…condescending," she asked.
He shrugged. "It's a personality flaw."
"Indeed," she agreed. "I am Valyria," she added a few seconds later.
"That's it," he asked, arching a brow at her. "Just, Valyria."
She sighed as she worked the tension out of her neck. "Valyria T'Soni," she amended with a glance.
Crichton shrugged. The name didn't ring any bells to him; but then again, he didn't pay much attention to the news or society in general. He knew the asari government was after her – judging from the conversation he overheard back at the hangar – but the asari were a tight-assed bunch, generally speaking.
"Ok T'Soni," he nodded to her. "Wanna tell me how you got mixed up with Mr. Friendly back there," he jerked a thumb back towards the galley, where Arjax still lingered.
She shook her head. "I found him in a pirate base. He seems to feel as though I cheated him somehow by saving his life."
"So now you're taking him home," he shrugged again. "Then what?"
"I have no idea, and you never answered my question."
Crichton leaned his head back against the wall as he considered his options.
She was obviously young – on her own – very inexperienced with dealing with people or making her own way. Yet she took out the Butcher and his thugs, and those mercs back on the Citadel. For some reason – her own people are after her. And I'm stuck here with her until we get to Tuchanka anyway.
He shrugged to himself. Might as well be honest about it.
"I was trailing you. I saw you at the bounty office – figured you were an easy mark. I was going to jolt you and help myself to your cred chits," he confessed.
He watched her green eyes narrow, focused on their approach vector to the Relay. "And what, exactly, gave you the impression that I would be an 'easy mark'?"
"Well," a smile crept onto his face, "you didn't exactly look like the type to pull off a bounty like that by yourself. I figured you were just a mule – working for a bigger outfit," he chuckled. "Guess I was wrong."
She didn't answer, letting the silence stretch between them to the point of awkwardness. "I don't know what I'm doing," she whispered eventually, then shook her head briefly. "I was trying to do the right thing – killing those men. I was glad to help those they had taken and abused – including Arjax – but killing them did not help me."
Crichton pursed his lips, considering her words and the feelings behind them. Revenge was a fickle thing – a black hole if you allowed it to be. "You'll figure it out," he lifted a shoulder as she turned to him with a look of incredulousness, making him grin. "Hey, we're all out here stumbling around in the dark."
She shook her head again. "Humans are very strange people," she muttered.
He laughed at that. "No more than you are, blue."
"Don't call me blue."
"Alright," he shrugged, "don't get your panties in a wad," he mumbled.
He kicked off the bulkhead a moment later, sensing their conversation was at an end. "I'm gonna go find something to eat and keep an eye on our krogan friend."
"Try not to antagonize him. We'll hit the Relay in a few minutes," she told him over her shoulder.
He chuckled as he walked away. "I'm not that dumb."
She watched as Arjax stomped down the loading ramp of the Farseer as the engines hissed and cooled from the violence of atmospheric entry. Basking in the roaring wind of his blighted homeworld as pebbles and dust clattered against his armor. He spread his muscled arms, a maniacal grin spread across his face when he turned back to face her.
"Behold," he laughed, "the glory of Tuchanka."
The ruins stretched to the horizon – blasted devastation, wracked by gales of ceaseless wind thick with dust and debris. It was a desert of rad-soaked lifelessness, a legacy of destruction. The rancid storms overhead obscured the powerful light of the sun – Aralakh – rolling in eternal turmoil beneath its merciless gaze.
"Something of a fixer-upper, eh," Crichton commented over the wind, a hand shielding his face.
"We shouldn't linger on the surface," Valyria adjusted the sword on her back and holstered her Tempest as she walked past him. "This world is unkind to visitors." Hence the armor, she added silently.
She was quite pleased with the upgraded Serrice Council hard-suit she purchased back on the Citadel – though not as much with the color. She'd repaint it in her usual black and red when time allowed – willing to suffer the grey-on-white for now.
"Really? You don't say," Crichton chuckled, voice heavy with sarcasm as he followed, his long coat flapping with every gust.
Arjax led them towards the lift down into the compound below, buried under the rubble of a towering pyramid-shaped structure of stone. Toppled statues, worn by time and weather, lined either side of the bombed-out avenue as they approached. When Valyria had asked who they had represented, the krogan had simply shrugged his massive shoulders.
"Long dead war-chiefs – nothing more."
Valyria narrowed her gaze at his dismissive tone, but held her tongue.
The bellicose krogan had spoken little since their arrival in system – except to provide her with landing coordinates to this site – a former stronghold of Clan Nakmor in ancient times. 'Land here,' he had told her. 'Try not to wreck anything.'
As if I could possibly cause more damage to this wasteland, she thought.
They entered the lift, listening to the low, moaning wind as they started to descend.
"When my clan ruled these lands," Arjax surprised them by speaking, as he brought up his massive shotgun, "this bunker was one of our proving grounds. Way down below – our aspirants would prove their worth by hunting the beasts – and each other," he glared at Valyria with a bright yellow eye, then chuckled.
Valyria eyed the obvious state of disrepair to the shaft as they descended, noting the cracks and bullet holes in the rock with concern. "Your people no longer dwell here?"
His gunshot laugh echoed over the grinding mechanics of the lift. "No one 'dwells' here, asari – the homeworld is a crucible for the unproven – we krogan are tough, but we claimed easier worlds to live on after the War."
"Skip to the part that explains why we're here," Crichton folded his arms, his voice tense.
Arjax growled as he swung his head to the human, fixing the slender man with his full attention. "You're here because this weakling," he gestured to Valyria, "saved you from a cell on the Citadel – speak when spoken to."
"Asshole," Crichton mumbled, shaking his head.
"Why are we here, Arjax," Valyria laced her tone with ice, trying her best to ignore their bickering.
"To hunt," he barked, turning back to her as he readied his shotgun. "why else?"
Valyria crossed her arms. "What exactly," she spoke slowly, "are we hunting – and why?"
"You soft-skinned pyjacks talk too much," he shook his head.
"Answer the question," she demanded as the lift screeched to a halt.
"Either of you dummies ever heard of a thresher maw," he chuckled as the lift gates opened – revealing a dimly lit cavern, littered with rubble and debris. He strode forwards as he activated the light mounted to his shotgun.
"The hell is a thresher maw," Crichton hissed to Valyria, pulling his pistols free – one in each fist.
She drew her sword and Tempest alongside him. "Something we have no business trying to kill," she whispered back, lighting her barrier as she spoke, flooding the darkness in purple-white light.
"We're not hunting maws, idiots," Arjax growled at them over his shoulder. "We're hunting their favorite prey – skittar beetles."
"Oh," Crichton shrugged, scanning the darkness as they walked into the cavern. "That sounds so much better."
"Not really," Valyria mumbled.
Arjax laughed; his deep, gravelly chuckles echoed through the darkness. "Yeah – I can't wait to see your faces when we find one."
Overlord Urdnot Wrex reclined on the throne of the first and only dreadnaught of the resurgent krogan war-fleet, the Conqueror, doing his best to maintain a neutral outward façade of calm indifference. Inside, his blood was on fire – to know that after everything they went through together – his friends had not trusted him enough to bring him into their confidence.
Liara and Shepard…I always figured it was just a fling, he mused, watching as Tuchanka rolled into view.
Nearly half a kilometer of armored threat, the Conqueror was a spear of deadly intent hanging in the void over the blighted homeworld, an alpha predator surrounded by a pack of lesser kin swarming her like a host of angry insects. Most were troop transports, bulky ticks of metal, loaded with troops and civilians awaiting transport to fresher, greener colonies.
He watched on the various screens before him as the long-range scans tracked a lone survey-ship falling into the rad-soaked atmosphere of Tuchanka, Ident signals pinging back with the name Farseer in bright orange lettering.
"Looks to be headed for the southern continent – Nakroli ruins, most like," a blue-eyed warrior stood at the base of his throne, consulting his own read-out from his omni-tool. He stood in burnished war-gear of gunmetal grey, bulky despite his relative youth.
"Hmph," Wrex grunted. "Ready a company for drop," he gestured to his lieutenant, red eyes meeting steeled blue, "get down there and make sure she lives through whatever idiocy this Nakmor clown talked her into."
"Heh," the subordinate laughed, "you worry too much, old man," he grinned as he turned to leave.
"Grunt," Wrex barked, stopping the younger krogan. "You know who she is – what she represents."
The young krogan tensed under the glare of his Overlord, grinding his teeth together. "Shepard was more than the savior of our people and the Slayer of Reapers, old man," he paused, nodding to him as he slammed an armored fist to his chest. "She was my friend."
"Get it done," Wrex nodded back.
The giant carcass of the worm below stretched for nearly seventy meters into the darkness, crawling with beetles. The three of them hunkered behind a rocky outcropping above, watching and listening to them scuttle and feed, ripping morsels of flesh with razor sharp pincers and gouts of corrosive slime.
Valyria nearly gaged from the stench of foulness flooding the air, thick enough to taste.
"They'll strip this old mother in less than a day," Arjax grunted beside her, "scurry it off a piece at a time back to their nest."
She could hear his grin coloring his words.
"See their horns?"
She peeked over the boulders. "Yes."
"That's what we're here for –"
"I hate spiders," Crichton interrupted, "why'd it have to be spiders?"
"Shut it," Arjax growled at him.
"There's dozens of the things down there," Crichton shot back, "each of 'em bigger than you are. How the hell are we supposed to kill all of them?"
"By doing what I say," Arjax shook his head, "whiny meat-sack," he added, rolling his eyes.
The cavern shook with a modest tremor suddenly.
"What was that," Valyria whispered, eyes darting around the gloom.
"Maw, most likely," Arjax shrugged.
"What the shit," Crichton hissed.
"Quiet," Arjax racked his shotgun. "Watch."
The beetles worked into a frenzy as the cavern shook again, spidery limbs impaling rock with ease as they scattered about in all directions. One of them was charging right towards their hiding spot. Valyria saw the krogan grin, jabbing a clawed digit at its armored form.
"We bring it down quick – or else risk facing the maw," he grinned, mounting the wall of rock with a grunt. "Oh, and if you die, I get your stuff."
Valyria shook her head, climbing up to join him.
"Yeah, I'll stay here, thanks," Crichton muttered, stretching out prone as he readied his rifle.
"Whatever," Arjax dismissed him, watching the beetle get closer, nearly right below them.
"Keep the rest off us," Valyria nodded to the human.
"You're both insane, you know that right," he told them as they leapt into the darkness.
Their boots hit the rocky floor with dull thuds, right in the charging path of the beetle – a solid ton of armored insectoid. Glossy black armor glinted in the gloom, bladed limbs flashing as they blurred, each one piercing into the rock as it ran at them, screeching.
"Hah, c'mon," Arjax roared, hefting his shotgun. His first blast blew a hole through one of its limbs, nearly severing it. Dark ichor sprayed from the wound as the beetle reared, mandibles flaring as it roared.
Valyria charged the opening – the bright streak of her biotics illuminating the cave like a signal flare. She hit with crashing force, the creature's legs struggling for purchase as it skidded backwards. Her sword flashed as it arced, slashing in a horizontal sweep that severed one of its pincers, painting her in black gore.
Then she was flying – tumbling, the breath knocked from her as she rolled to a stop. The pain in her chest sent her reeling. It struck before I even saw the blow coming, she realized.
"Bastards are quick," Arjax laughed, unloading round after round. "Get up," he barked. The beetle scurried back, lunging for an attack only to be blasted back by the krogan's shotgun. "C'mon!"
She got to her feet as her barrier went up again, leveled her Tempest and opened up – bright rounds punching into its armored chest and thorax in a throaty staccato of fire.
It was bleeding, limping, but still fighting as another tremor shook the cavern – a steady rumble that only seemed to grow louder this time.
"Shit, shit, shit," she heard Crichton from above, as she weaved aside from a blade-limb strike. She threw a wall of force at it, rocking it aside to smash into the cliff face. It staggered, and she slashed another limb at an angled joint in an overhead strike.
"Guys, we got company," he warned between the sharp retorts of his rifle.
"Yeah, yeah," Arjax barked back as he reloaded, watching the beetle topple and hiss. It was bleeding profusely, yet still screeching and lashing out with its legs as spears. "We're almost done."
Valyria turned, watching as the rolling mass of a giant worm punched through the wall of the cavern, slamming into the blurry form of a fleeing beetle with its mouth stretched wide. The beetle disappeared as the worm hit the opposite side, flowing through the rock like water.
Goddess, she thought, as the beetle's final defiant screeches ended with the throaty concussion of a shotgun.
Arjax moved to the twitching creature, holstering his shotgun as he pulled a barbed blade from his shin. "Nice," he growled, as he hacked his trophy free.
"Hurry up, we need to move," Valyria hissed as she reloaded her Tempest, flicking blackened ooze from the muzzle.
"Yeah, before that fucking maw comes back for seconds," Crichton agreed.
Arjax grunted as he ripped the only undamaged horn free from the beast with a satisfied laugh, tucking it under his arm as he turned to the asari with a grin. "Not bad," he nodded to her.
"You're insane," she shook her head at him. "Lets go before –"
Arjax' chest exploded with bright orange gore as the bladed spear of the beetle burst through him. His trophy fell as he crashed to his knees, vomiting viscera and gurgling incoherently.
She moved in the same instant, swinging her Tempest up and unloading into the thing's whining maw, shredding it to a pulpy mass of liquified blood and chitin. Before the body settled she took a step and swung her blade down, cleaving the leg impaled into Arjax' back.
"The lift's going up," Crichton shouted between shots, the crack of his rifle reverberating through the cavern.
"Arjax is hurt," she answered, trying to help the wounded krogan to his feet and failing with a curse. "I'm sending him up." She reached out with her biotics – wrapping him in a glowing aura of purplish energy – and lifted him up.
"There's more comin' – I can't hit them all," Crichton called back. "Get out of there!"
She wrapped a blood slicked glove around Arjax' prize before shealthing herself in energy – leaping for safety as the beetles descended upon their wounded kin – fresh meat for the nest.
(A/N: I struggled with this chapter for awhile; special thanks to The Illusive Author for helping me through it - kudos amigo)