Chapter 28: It's The Hard Knock Life For Us
Shadows cloak Vlair as he recedes from the balcony. Neve is still visible. So is the turian. They peer at the space where he hides. He doesn't move. Leaving his position for a better vantage of the pair is a mistake he won't repeat, but he could hear them better from the balcony. He tugs at the fine cuff of his outerskin jacket. The turian Neve's with wears a C-Sec hardsuit.
What's she doing cozying up to a C-Sec officer?
Human and turian move to Neve's door. The dancer shouts something unintelligible at the officer and shoves herself through the jammed entrance. The turian lingers before her door, arms outstretched. In the darkness, Vlair folds his arms. He must get closer, must discover what these two are about.
Weak mumbling to his left snaps Vlair's head in that direction. He scans the gloom. Light shafting into the outer corridor from the sub-avenue is enough to reveal a sour smelling bundle of blankets and debris. Someone's cocooned in there. No one that's a threat to Vlair. He returns his attention to the spat in progress on the opposing balcony. The C-Sec turian is stuck in Neve's doorway. His bulky, dorsal shell wedges in the opening. Gloved fists hammer the door until it springs back. The turian splats inside and the entrance seals shut. With the pair of them indoors, Vlair can leave cover.
A touch to his hanguard's action gem powers Vlair's omni-tool. He pulls a pane from its brilliant interface and puts a call in to Kella. The asari blinks on screen. Her eyes narrow at him. One hand at the side of her face toys with a half-smoked self-rolled. Her crisp blouse is unbuttoned at the collar.
"Well?" She asks and flicks a plug of ash from her self-rolled.
After Lanaral's call to Kella's suite that afternoon, the asari sent Vlair on a recon run. In a few hours—longer than it regularly took him to track a target—he'd found Neve scurrying about the Lower Markets, harassing sales roamers with a sack stuffed with human trinkets, second rate tech, and a mass of game discs. Bit by bit she'd sold off her possessions. The credit chits she'd collected chattered together in her bag as he'd shadowed her. The deposit she'd made at a public access terminal on Shalta Ward had gone straight to Earth along with a vid message. She'd pressed the transmit icon and had collapsed over the terminal. Whatever had made her eyes so red she'd rubbed away and had sought out another sales roamer to bark her price for her p-terminal. Her reasons for abandoning the shoot hadn't been clear, but this turian C-Sec officer…he likely played a major role in her defection.
"So, what are you doing reporting to me?" Kella spits. "Find out what C-Sec wants with her. That turian could be connected to the raid on our Omega facilities."
Vlair closes his eyes and waits out the surge of emotion that pounds at his temples, then speaks. "Protocol stipulates I contact you before taking further action with any public or privately retained enforcement officials."
"And I approve further action." The asari stubs out her self-rolled off screen. "Do whatever you deem necessary to gather whatever intelligence we need. I have to deal with this data transmission error." She flings her hand at something Vlair can't see. "When we have Neve under thumb remind me to terminate our transportation contract with Aridi Sin. I want them on production only from now on. One of their reps sent an unencrypted shipping manifest to my p-sig."
Lowering the volume on his omni-tool, Vlair asks, "What was on the manifest?" He has trouble modulating his vocals. This clerical error could be the leverage he needsto oust Kella from her throne. The asari's response is well out of most species' auditory range. Only another drell could hear it or someone with genetic or cybernetic boosts to their senses.
"Besides the newest batches of AY-Eternity blended red sand?" Kella swipes the curve of her bottom lip with her thumb. "Our generous donor."
Vlair almost chuckles. An idiot rep at Aridi Sin put an Ardat-Yakshi on a shipping manifest. He has a hunch it was a turian and shoots Neve's door a murderous look. Truly a petty, pedantic race.
"They documented Morinth's presence in their facility?" Vlair asks.
"It's a her alias on the manifest. Fortunately, Aridi Sin's people aren't that dull, but this security breach…the timing with C-Sec's interference and Neve botching the shoot…"
"I'll take care of it after we have Neve's situation in hand. There are plenty of discreet programs that can erase the data trail." And plenty of discreet programs that can mimic erasure while preserving vital data. Kella touches two fingers to her crinkled brow.
"That would be helpful, Vlair, thank you. I'll focus on placating Lanaral and Potential Barriers and rescheduling Neve's shoot." Kella's eyes lock with his through the active pane. "They don't want another model. They know value when they see it and there's no time for us to scout another prospect. She's everything we need and is wonderfully responsive to the compound. We need her. Keep her out of C-Sec's net."
The interface pane collapses. The pile of stinking blankets next to Vlair snorts. The drell tenses. His right hand goes to the Razer VII holstered beneath his outerskin jacket. The mimeo-shroud module concealing the weapon from any scans resonates against his palm. His fingers close over the cool metal when a Batarian's head shakes off the soiled cloth. Four black, sleep clouded eyes blink up at Vlair. The drell sees when the alien determines he's a likely hostile. While the batarian's lower eyes remain vacant, the higher and smaller pair—the dominant pair—sparkle with cunning intelligence.
Removing his hand from his jacket, Vlair holds it up with his other hand, gesturing his goodwill. He puts one finger to his lips in a wordless request for silence. The batarian's forehead wrinkles. Had he any brows, one would have hooked up. A flap of Vlair's hand a twitch of his fingers conjures a credit chit seemingly from the air itself. He lobs the chit at the batarian. A hand appears from the blanket folds and swipes the chit, then the batarian becomes a grumbling bundle of cloth once more. Vlair heads for the splinter avenue behind the complex. Silence isn't easily bought, but if word of a drell's presence on this block spreads, he'll know what loose ends need cutting.
Sticking to the splinter avenues, Vlair winds his way to the back of Neve's resplex. As he goes, he traces seams in the building's architecture. These prefabricated buildings are all constructed with the same core components. The geometry of their assembly will tell him where likely access points could be.
"Hey. Hey, mister!" The little voice whispering to Vlair makes him turn.
A human child skulks several paces from him in a column of light cast by one of the resplex's security spots. The child motions for Vlair's approach. The drell considers ignoring him, then acquiesces. A child hanging about, making noise, will eventually draw unwanted attention.
A canvas duster drapes the boy's lean shoulders. The hem and sleeves of the garment are hacked off to accommodate his small frame. When Vlair's boots toe the edge of the light, the boy throws open his coat like a tiny flasher. Vlair leaps back, shields his face. On the Lower Wards many children use misdirection techniques to render adult marks off guard. A blind-bat program running on a pocket bud system could be stored in a coat or tucked in a palm. The retina burning strobe the programmed bud emits can blind a target for up to twenty minutes. That's long enough for the most untalented pickpocket to strip a mark.
No blind-bat program fires at Vlair. He lowers his arm. A patchwork of miniature vid panes lines the inside of the boy's coat. He clucks his tongue and raises one brow. A scar above his upper lip twists his mouth in a permanent sneer.
"You in the market, mister? I got plenty of footage from that resplex."
The vids looping in the boy's coat are all overshots of resplex apartments. Humans and several aliens undress until the vids pause and reset. Couples projected on the panes ready for intimacy, but never join. The vids are meant to entice buyers. Vlair isn't in the market for voyeuristic skin vids. He reaches in his jacket for a credit chit anyhow.
"You take all these vids?" He asks.
The boy's eyes flick to Vlair's side. He swallows. "Yeah. Which one you want?"
"None," Vlair says. The chit in his hand galvanizes the boy who licks his lips. "I want—"
There's pressure at Vlair's hip. His jacket flares out as he sweeps around and grabs the figure crouched behind him by the throat. At his back, the boy curses and scurries away. He's irrelevant. Vlair has the thief. When he slams her into the resplex wall she gasps. Her feet dangle more than a foot off the ground. Another child. A mass of unbrushed curls tangles about her head. Nails rake Vlair's arm, teeth cut the sensitive bit of skin between his thumb and index finger. He winces, gives her another good knock against the wall that leaves her groaning.
"Your partner's abandoned you," he says, ready to choke her should she scream. He doesn't think she will. Duct rats like this wouldn't risk C-Sec involvement even if C-Sec could save them. Fastest way to end up a ward of whatever government institution claims them. The girl's words fight through her panting.
"Why should both of us be pinched?"
Sound logic. Vlair nods, but doesn't set her down. The boy's out of sight. That doesn't mean he's gone. Duct rats survive in pairs, small groups. While one is free there's always the possibility that those captured will be rescued.
"Your partner film all these vids?" Vlair asks.
"We both do." She twists in his hold, searches for a weak point that doesn't exist.
"Then you know he access points for this building."
A dark eye rolls upward. The girl's sightline skims the building's contours. "Yeah."
"Is there a vent duct with access to the third floor big enough for me?"
The girl's head goes from side to side. Her lips pucker while she compares his girth to the map of tunnels, ducts, and hidden passages in the ward's architecture she undoubtedly carries in her head.
"I know one that'll hold you," she says.
Planting the girl on her feet, Vlair uncurls his fingers from her throat. With a gentle touch, she worries the tender spots he's made. Medical attention won't be necessary. He knows he was careful.
"You should let the boy have a try at lifting. It's not your strong suit," Vlair says.
"Thanks for the advice," the girl says with a roll of her eyes and without inflection. She jerks her head to the right. "This way." She pads further down the splinter avenue, hugging the resplex wall. Vlair follows his scruffy lead, ever mindful of the light.
