SANCTUARY

THREE: LOSING BATTLES

Thralog Mirki'it ran a hand down his face and yawned widely. He'd at least managed to snatch a couple of hours of sleep while the orders filtered out and the surviving Shadows started to file back into headquarters, but that had been well over twelve hours ago and he was still feeling as weary as ever. It was a real fight to keep his eyes open even with the general hubbub in the communal ground floor of the base. He'd lived here most of his life, after all. He was used to it.

They'd done better than he'd expected, actually; the Shadows still numbered over forty even after the deaths and desertions, although he had no doubt that that number would fall once the street boys realised the seriousness of the situation. He hadn't suffered many desertions yet, though, and that was enough to inspire some confidence, as was the comforting murmur of dozens of people swarming around the building. We haven't lost everything yet. Just most of it.

Their base had never seen this level of activity – or, at least, not in over a decade. He vaguely recalled it being packed like this years before, when they'd fought a short, brutal war against an upstart human gang looking to take over their trade, but that was a distant memory now. All he could call up clearly was an image of his father and his lieutenants clustered around the briefing table he'd kept until a few years ago, so deep in planning that he hadn't dared even trying to talk to them. He'd been... what, sixteen? Seventeen? He'd wanted to fight, but he'd known his father would never allow that. That hadn't stopped him from taking a rifle out of storage and taking his car to a rooftop overlooking Hacre Street, but what had happened after that was a blur. He was fairly sure he'd dropped a few of the encroaching Red Rebels, as the humans had styled themselves, but adrenalin had wiped his memory of the night pretty much clean. And dad knew, of course. I was amazed how loudly he could shout with a bullet in his lung.

Tomasz was speaking to someone over his comm set as he came down the stairs to the right, but he finished by the time he was at the bottom and shouldered past a few jumpy-looking street dealers to get to the couch Thralog was sitting on.

"That was Third, boss," he said, lowering his heavy frame onto another seat. "They're coming around via Irden to stay low-profile. Should be here in about ten minutes. The equipment just arrived by car, all accounted for. Produce too."

Thralog nodded approvingly. Third was the last surviving drug lab the Shadows had operated; the first two had gone down days ago, but as long as they'd rescued the product and the equipment from Third then they hadn't lost everything. They'd deliberately left it as the last thing they would withdraw; there'd been disagreement, but Thralog had been adamant that pushing the lab into production overdrive while everyone else retreated would pay off.

"How much do we have?" he asked.

"About a kilo pure, three more at around 65%," Tomasz said. "Street value of eighty, ninety grand. Maybe better if we use the pure to disguise the rest."

"Told you so."

Tomasz chuckled. "That you did. That produce could be invaluable later when we're looking for start-up capital."

"That's the idea. Is everything in place?"

"Everything."

"Good," Thralog said, rubbing his chin. "In that case, get the inner circle together and clear the second level. We need to talk."

"I don't think I need to summarise the situation here," Thralog said, "or what it means for us. Do I?"

A mute chorus of shaken heads was the only response. Thralog nodded, and leaned out over the ledge looking over the bridge. It was coming up to 2200 by Omega's day cycle, but the light level never changed from that familiar orange-tinted twilight. He'd never left the station to see anything different, and that gloom so many first-time visitors found oppressive or menacing was comforting to him, a reassurance that no matter the particulars of the politics and the infighting on Omega, the station itself never changed. For better or for worse.

"I know how much I hate doing this," he said, not looking back. "It's probably worse for you. There's a temptation to think that we're strong enough to withstand this, that we're being cowards by shutting down. We're not. Our position is already untenable. The only question is how we proceed now."

"It took Nelog fifteen years to get the Shadows to where they are today," Ganak said. "If we start over, it'll be years before we're anywhere near as strong as we are now."

"We're not strong now," Torinn muttered. "Not any more. How long do you think it'll be before we can't pay people? Most of the street kids are just that: street kids. They'll go running to whoever'll take 'em in. They don't give a fuck about the Shadows. They just want their money."

"We could have kept it to one lab in operation," Ganak snapped, all four of his eyes blazing. Angry, but not with Torinn. With the situation. With himself? "We could have guarded it heavily, put all our tech boys there. That would be enough to keep us going for a month or so if we had it at high production. That's plenty of time to hunt the sons of bitches who're doing this down."

"Wrong," Thralog said, turning to face the four men gathered behind him. Ganak looked at him with a carefully blank face. "Have you been paying attention to the way they've been doing it? Whoever's after us is professional. This isn't some two-bit gang or some nutjob vigilante. I don't know who it is, but they're military in their precision. Omega is the hardest place in the galaxy to hunt anyone down on, let alone someone like that. I will not risk the future of this organisation without something solid to go on, and I will not allow unnecessary harm to come to its members. We look after our own, Ganak."

There was a long, tense pause as he and Ganak locked eyes. He'd expected some resistance from him; Ganak had always been the most intransigent of his father's lieutenants aside from Milner - but Milner had taken a round through the head ten days ago, and now Ganak was taking over his position as the most hawkish member of the inner circle at the heart of the Shadows. Thralog knew him well enough to see he wouldn't push it, however, and he was proven right when Ganak dropped his gaze and nodded in acquiescence.

"Right, boss," he said. Thralog nodded again and left it at that. Whatever doubts he might harbour, Ganak was as loyal as they came, and he'd be with him until the end. That much, at least, was certain. Thinking that any of his lieutenants might have actually opposed him suddenly seemed laughable, but he was all too aware that he'd been thinking exactly that until Tomasz had spoken to him in the early hours of the morning.

The atmosphere relaxed a little from the powerful tension that had been there since they'd gathered on the upper level once the inevitable confrontation had been dealt with, and Thralog stepped away from the ledge to confirm it, moving to the seats placed near the racks of bunks to signal a more casual session instead of the formality that standing implied. He waited until they'd all taken a seat before continuing.

"I believe," he said, with a thin smile, "that we just covered the basics, yes?"

That got a few pained smiles and forced chuckles, not from them humouring him but from a collective desire to loosen the atmosphere a little further. Even Ganak managed a smile.

"Right," Thralog said, and leaned forward. "We have no choice but to suspend operations in our territory, we all know that. If we don't, we'll continue taking losses until we won't be able to salvage anything from this whole fucking mess. If we try to wait it out, all indications are that people who are this kind of professional will hit us again as soon as we set up, and that's not including the Suns, who are entirely willing to fuck us at the first opportunity. We can't stay here. We're leaving the district."

"How has it come to this?" Kan'dret burst out. "We've been careful, more careful than we had to be! We didn't make enemies, we paid our dues to Aria, we kept price gouging to a reasonable level! What the hell is this shit?"

"Cool it," Tomasz grunted. "Nothing we can do to change it now."

"Indeed," Thralog said. "We haven't informed the men that we're pulling out completely yet, but I imagine most of them have worked it out by now. We have perhaps a hundred thousand credits of working capital and the equipment from Third. We need to locate a target district to take over, work out a timetable and logistics, and then move within three days."

"Three days is not a long time," Torinn said doubtfully.

"Exactly. If we move quickly we can stem the flow of desertions before it reaches its peak."

"True enough," Torinn said, nodding slowly, "but do we have the capacity to pull this off? We'd need to isolate a district with both a viable market and penetrable defences, as well as ID'ing enemy strength, strongholds, the general mood in the area..."

"Our scouts can do all of that," Tomasz said. "Plus we have contacts who owe favours to us. It's possible."

"But three days is a difficult timeframe," Thralog mused. "I understand that, don't get me wrong, and it's definitely not a concrete deadline, but the longer we delay..."

He left the sentence hanging there, half threat and half warning. It got a contemplative silence of a few seconds, with nothing but the low-level ambient hum of Omega's ageing systems drifting in through the window and the murmur of conversation from downstairs. Thralog could almost convince himself it was like any normal night at Shadows HQ.

"What do we tell them?" Ganak said, in a low, quiet voice. "Anything? Everything?"

"...Tomasz, take the techies and anyone above street," Thralog said. "The people who comprise the inner workings of the organisation. Tell them the situation. In full. Make it clear to them that they're needed. Invoke my father if you want. They'll leak it to the rank and file, and most of them will vanish. If we can keep ten or fifteen, including the tech boys and a few veterans, then we have a platform to build on. We'll keep the core."

"Fifteen fucking years down the drain," Kan'dret snarled, and slammed a hand down onto the arm of his couch. "For what? What have we gained? We don't deserve this!"

"We're still alive," Thralog said. "That's more than can be said for a lot of good people. We can save the Shadows as an entity. We can carry on. None of this is about what we deserve, or what we're owed, or what we have a right to. This is Omega. Take what you can and be thankful that you've got that much."

"This is no way to fight a war," Kan'dret said more calmly, but his fingers tightening on the fabric beneath them betrayed the fire he was barely keeping in check. Anger won't help us now, my friend, Thralog thought. "Give us an enemy you can see and we'd have ripped them to shreds days ago. These people are fucking cowards. Is there really no way we can beat them?"

"Doesn't seem like it," Torinn said morosely.

"I disagree," Tomasz said, and sixteen eyes flicked his way. "I've been asking myself one question over the last couple of weeks: why? This is not the action of a rival gang. The only ones who would benefit from this are the Blue Suns, and even they would only gain a little. There has to be some kind of external reason for this."

"Like what?" Ganak said. "Law enforcement moving in on Omega? They've learned well enough that's a bad idea."

"True," Tomasz said. "It has to be smaller than that."

"Vigilantes?" Torinn said, frowning. "I thought it might be something like that, but why us?"

"Luck, most likely," Tomasz answered, "but that's not important. Their motive is some sort of misguided do-gooder bullshit, the way I see it. That means that they only win if we're all dead. If the Shadows stay alive, then we've won. We've beaten them." He looked around expectantly at the others' faces. "Don't you see? As long as the Shadows live on, they haven't done what they set out to do. The best thing we can possibly do now is get out as fast as we can."

"There is... a certain logic to it," Kan'dret said after a pause, although he still looked distinctly uneasy. "And we have very few other options."

"I would go as far as to say 'no other options'," Thralog murmured. "Thank you, Tom. Well put. Start getting the word out to essential personnel."

"On it," Tomasz said at once, and hauled himself up to disappear downstairs.

"Kan'dret, work on security arrangements: bodyguards, weapons, armour, that sort of thing," Thralog went on, even before Tomasz had left the room. "We need to be well-equipped when we leave. Torinn, Ganak: get Brian and the other scouts and start on deciding where we go. Officially, tell them we're looking to expand our operation. They'll know it's lies, but tell them anyway. I want this done quickly, people. This is the most important operation in the history of the Shadows. We do it right, or we lose everything. Clear?"

"Clear," Ganak said, and Torinn and Kan'dret nodded along with him. The three rose at Thralog's return of the nod and headed downstairs, Ganak and Torinn already in close conversation. Thralog waited until they'd all gone before he got up himself and wandered back to the viewpoint overlooking the bridge. He rested his elbows on the ledge and closed his eyes.

And just like that, we're cutting and running. What more can we do? Against an invisible enemy, it doesn't matter how strong you are. The only way to win is to make them visible. If you can see them, you can kill them. We can't, and that's that. It's not fair, but Omega never was.

He stayed standing there for five minutes or so, taking in the familiar shadowy recesses of the vast building blocks of the station. Won't be able to enjoy this view for much longer... ah, that's a point. We'll have to blow this place up behind us. It's far too good a position to let the Suns have it free. We'll make the bastards pay for it. Maybe we could even wire it to blow when they arrive. That would serve them right-

His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the door sliding open behind him, and he turned to see Tomasz coming back into the room.

Thralog raised an eyebrow. "That was fast," he began, but Tomasz cut him off.

"Sorry, boss, but you really need to hear this," the human said breathlessly. "It's Jiger Toerun, usual channel."

Thralog opened up his omnitool without hesitation and opened a call to Toerun. If Tomasz thought something was urgent enough to actually interrupt him, then Thralog knew that it was damn well urgent.

"Toerun?" he said. "What is it?"

"Ah, Thralog. I was so sorry to hear about your father."

No you weren't, you little shit.

"As was I," Thralog said coldly. "What is it?"

"I've got something you're going to be very interested in," the salarian said, his voice almost dripping with avarice. Thralog grimaced a little at his nasally smug tone, but put it aside; Toerun was a jackass, nobody disputed that – but he was a hell of an information dealer, and nobody disputed that.

"Like what?"

"Well, word's been out that you've been having a little... trouble of late," Toerun said, clearly enjoying the conversation. "It might just be that I've come into contact with someone who can pinpoint the source of this trouble for you."

Thralog's breath caught in his chest for a moment. Does he mean-

"He knows where they'll be and when, as well as who they are," the salarian said. "He has a recording. I've seen some of it. It checks out. There'll be a cost – to me, for bringing the matter to your attention, and to him, of course – but I'm sure that won't be an issue."

Thralog's throat was suddenly dry, and he swallowed. The last twenty seconds had sent his head spinning as he tried to work out the new parameters of the situation, and even now he couldn't quite believe what he was hearing. Is it really that easy...?

"How much?" he asked, although he didn't care. He let the salarian babble on about personal danger and difficult working conditions while he thought furiously about what to do. The information may or may not be good, but I'm leaning towards 'may'. Toerun's too good to try and pass off bad intel, even knowing that we're falling apart. That means he thinks it's solid, and he's never been wrong before... but what if it's a trap? They could have got to him and used him to try and lure us out into the open. It's too convenient.

…

But if it's real...

"-considered, my price is fifteen thousand," Toerun was saying as Thralog turned his attention back to the conversation. "Our... mutual friend has indicated he wants fifty thousand, as well as a guarantee of his personal safety."

"Fifty thousand!" Tomasz mouthed, looking disgusted. Thralog was inclined to agree; that would be a ridiculous price under almost any circumstances. But extraordinary times call for extraordinary measures.

"We can meet those demands," Thralog said, putting an infinitesimal stress on the last word. We can't, but fuck him if he thinks I'm actually paying him. It was odd, he reflected, how calm he sounded compared to how he felt; his heart was beating away like a jackhammer in his chest, but his voice stayed absolutely level. "However, you must understand that for reasons related to operational security, we'll need to bring him to our headquarters."

"A moment," Toerun said, and muted the channel briefly before returning. "Yes, that's fine, as long as he can bring bodyguards."

"Of course," Thralog purred. As if we're letting him leave here alive. "I'll send a team in to pick him and his bodyguards up immediately, along with your payment. Where can we meet?"

"The roof of the Damma building, on Corroa Avenue. Debret district. One hour."

"I look forward to it."

"Fifteen thousand credits, remember," Toerun said, and ended the call.

There was a long moment of silence as Thralog and Tomasz stared at each other, Tomasz's hand still at his earpiece.

"That was... unexpected," Tomasz said finally, lowering his hand. "Think it's legit?"

"I don't know," Thralog replied. "But if it is and we pass on it, I'd spend the rest of my life knowing I might have missed the chance to deliver some richly-deserved payback on the bastards who killed my father. I can't let this go, Tom."

Tomasz grinned widely. "I can't tell you how much I was hoping you'd say that."

"This could be it," Thralog said. "This could be it!"

"We can't survive here even if we take them out," Tomasz said. "You understand that."

Thralog nodded slowly. "Yes, of course. But... this could be it, Tom."

"So you keep saying," Tomasz said solemnly. "Who leads the team out to pick him up?"

"Kan'dret," Thralog said instantly. "He can have everything he thinks he needs and more. I want this to go absolutely flawlessly. And... when they get there, have a small squad stay behind. If Toerun's present, I want him dead as soon as the package is secure."

"Dead?"

"Dead. We can't risk a double-cross. Also, I hate him and refuse to pay him."

"Fair enough," Tomasz said thoughtfully. "On that note, I assume we're not paying the contact either?"

"No, and I want his bodyguards killed as soon as they're inside the base- wait, no. Let him get close before we do it. Make sure the guy sees it. I want him scared out of his mind. I want him to think we're going to kill him if he doesn't deliver."

"And are we?"

"Yes."