Chapter 35 – Agents
"I told you this was going to be a bad job right from the start."
"So why take it?" Jarin responded in a tone that implied it wasn't the first time he'd heard the complaint from his fellow mercenary. The turian was seated at a poorly maintained desk, the once stark-white of its factory standard surface now chipped and discoloured from years of use. He paid the damage little heed, his attention dedicated to the orange-hued terminal screen that dominated the desktop. A still image lay before him, the grainy screen populated by dozens of blurry figures, a mixture of aliens from countless worlds. Jarin studied it carefully for a moment before waving it away with the flick of a key, sliding another still along to take its place. A pair of yellow iris' focused in on the figures, narrowing in concentration as their owner leaned forward imperceptibly in his seat. Behind him Tarkuss was bent over a countertop in the tiny kitchen he occupied, the open plan design of the apartment they shared leaving him with his back to Jarin. Currently in the process of stripping the pair's weapons down for maintenance and struggling on account of the poor light from the overhead fixtures, the man had been a poor companion since they returned from their unsuccessful attempt to capture the quarian.
"You saw the kind of credits he was offering," Tarkuss replied, "even you couldn't pass them up."
Jarin's mandibles tensed slightly. Whilst he didn't hold money in quite as high a regard as Tarkuss he had to concede, if only to himself, that his partner was correct. "We'll have earned them before the night is out." He remarked, the comment as much for his own reassurance as Tarkuss'.
"We'd better, or it might be the last time either of us ever get near that kind of coin again."

As with all of Tarkuss' whining, Jarin let the complaint pass him by. Each man was well aware of the kind of stakes with which they played. Their instructions had been clear enough on that front: recover the data and exterminate the loose end. Both success and failure would be compensated for accordingly. Each man had worked for their employer long enough to fathom what that meant and Tarkuss' constant reminders served no other purpose than to build up stress levels between the two, something that Jarin had learnt to ignore long ago. All the same he found it difficult to focus on the newest image to fill his terminal, knowing that it would be only moments before his companion spoke again. He sighed inwardly when he was proven right.

"Would've been done by now if she'd left the shekking data core on her ship." Tarkuss muttered.
"Which would've been too easy." Said Jarin dismissively, his eyes lingering over the blurry form of a salarian for a moment before dismissing the lithe figure on his screen.
Tarkuss cursed as a tool slipped from his grasp and clattered against the linoluem floor, the heavy metal leaving a solid dent in its wake. "Easy'd be nice for a change." He replied, the dark orange of his colony markings briefly appearing far paler in the dim light as he stooped to pick up the device.
"And suspicious, given the money involved in this."
Tarkuss paused before turning back to his half-disassembled assault rifle. "Fair point." He acquiesced, and then snorted to himself. "Still can't believe you managed to convince the volus yardmaster that we were with Immigration Control."
"We had the proper documentation." Replied Jarin easily. "No reason for him to disbelieve us."
"Yeah but he didn't even try to stop us boarding that ship, much less scanning it. What kind of volus lets two officials ransack a ship he bought under the radar less than an hour before?"
"A scared one." Jarin finally broke his gaze with the screen, blinking heavily to try to wash away the strain of staring at the digital display for so long. "One smart enough to understand how long the term plausible deniability applies." His right hand snaked up to rub his eye sockets, the rough surface of his fingers helping to prepare for the inevitable second bout with the myriad of images.
A soft whirring filled the dingy apartment as Tarkuss set to work with a drill-like attachment, the noise not quite enough to drown out the sound of his voice, much to Jarin's displeasure. "You think he had chance to take it for himself?"
Jarin shook his head slightly, even though his partner couldn't see the motion. "No. The quarian's too smart to have left it behind. She's still got it with her."
Tarkuss hawked and spat into the grimy sink, drawing a sniff of disgust from the other turian that went unheeded. "Good for us that he'd sent one of his guys to follow her. What was it he said?
'Never trust a suit-rat'?"
"Something like that."

Jarin's reply indicated he hadn't heard much of Tarkuss' ramblings, his attention fixated once more on the terminal that took up his desk. His eyes protested at the demands he made of them as he scrolled through countless images of Illium's population, examining every character studiously before passing on. The back of his carapace ached continuously; the poorly designed asari chair offered little support to whatever posture he tried to adopt and he couldn't even afford to stretch out his legs, surrounded as he was by half a dozen capacitors, encoders and power units that were all wired into his terminal. Subconsciously he was aware of the emerging light behind the blinds of the window to his left, the gentle pink hue heralding the arrival of the morning sun. Jarin stolidly refused to buckle under the mounting pressure. He was too disciplined to let the approaching zero hour affect his performance.

By the time Tarkuss inevitably spoke again almost a quarter of an hour had passed, a near-miracle in Jarin's eyes. "How'd you think he found her so fast?"
"Who?" Asked Jarin curtly.
"The boss." Said Tarkuss as though his train of thought were visible to all. "We'd been on standby less than a day."
"It's a geth data core Tarkuss," was the condescending reply, "the flashheads would've known about it the moment it was stolen. The boss was probably told within minutes."
"I know all that," Jarin's partner snapped, "but it still doesn't explain how quickly he worked out where the quarian was once she left whatever world the geth were hiding on."
Jarin didn't care to admit that the thought had crossed his mind too, though to him the answer seemed readily apparent. "The Broker's involved." He said simply, leaving Tarkuss to work that one out for himself. It didn't take him long.
"The Shadow Broker?"
"There aren't many others."
"What makes you say it was him?" Demanded Tarkuss. "Why not a tracker?"
"If they'd planted one on her we'd never have been put on standby in the first place and you know as well as I do the Broker's got a lot of hooks here on Illium," replied Jarin, "how many other people do you know who can find a person that fast?"
Tarkuss was quiet for a moment and when he spoke, it was very matter-of-fact. "Think the boss'd use him to find us if we balls this up?"
"Doubt he'd need to." Was the equally down-to-earth response. "But if it came to that, yes."
"We're shekked." Decided Tarkuss casually, turning back to put the finishing touches on his weapon re-assembly.
"Only if we don't find get the data."
"Yeah. Doing a great job of that so far."
Jarin ignored the jibe, obstinately persevering with his task and discarding another two still images. How many more remained? It was a question her refused to dignify with an answer.

"You sure this is gonna work?" Tarkuss' dull grey eyes were apprehensive as he glanced toward the window. "Sun's coming up, boss is going to want a report soon."
"I'm aware."
"And I'm aware you didn't answer me." Tarkuss' voice dripped with condescension.
A short blast of hot air exited Jarin's nostrils. "Will what work?"
Tarkuss slid the outer casing of the Tsunami V rifle back into place, re-engaging the clasps with a definitive click. "Spending hours looking through footage from street cameras that the quarian might have walked past after we left. Footage that we're streaming from the authorities. Footage that probably has more chance of having a drell on it than the girl."
"Saw one of those a while back." Jarin muttered to himself, listening as always with one ear to his partner's never-ending complaints.
Tarkuss muttered a few choice curses under his breath, the fully-serviced rifle being placed alongside its twin and the pair of pistols that lay tucked in a corner. Abruptly left with nothing to occupy his hands the turian turned, watching Jarin's slow progress with increasing impatience before his lips parted once more. "You sure we can't get another terminal going?"
Jarin's head moved from side to side. "We only have enough encoders for one and before you ask we already tried the Omni-Tool, the resolution's too small to pick a krogan out from the crowd, let alone our quarian."
Tarkuss' brow narrowed and he strode towards the window, feet tramping heavily against carpets that were long since worn thin. A taloned hand pulled the blinds back, momentarily flooding the drab beige walls with a glossy sheen before Tarkuss let them fall back into position.
"Your distractions aren't helping." Jarin remarked quietly, his eyes still on his screen.
The other mercenary shot him a look that said he didn't care. "It doesn't help when I'm half-expecting to have two dozen cops start hammering the door down any minute."
"That's what you're worried about?" The military man looked up for the first time, a flicker of genuine surprise passing across his features. "I already told you, my source with the law won't let that happen."
"And how much do you trust him?" Tarkuss snapped, his temper beginning to fray at his partner's unflappable attitude. "That little stunt the quarian pulled with the power grid last night has got to have put the cyber warfare teams on edge."
"Ulara's in cyber warfare," Jarin replied coolly, "she's reliable. So long as we keep putting credits in her pocket at least."
Spotting something back in the kitchen that had slipped from his mind, Tarkuss immediately brightened and walked back across the room, though he couldn't help a sarcastic parting shot. "Ulara huh? That another of your asari conquests?"
Jarin didn't respond, refusing to be baited. Instead, and not for the first time that day, he began to wonder why he hadn't yet fractured his cohort's jaw.

The sound of a seal being broken made Jarin turn his head. Tarkuss leant with his back against the counter, mimicking the pose he'd taken up in the bar where they'd first found their quarry hiding.
"You're drinking." The statement smacked of incredulity.
"Damn straight, helps me think better. And if we shek this up, least I won't care as much when we die." Catching the look Jarin gave him, Tarkuss rolled his eyes in disregard. "Relax will you? I'm not having enough to get wasted; don't think you could manage it on this stuff anyway."
Deciding not to get drawn into a discussion the pair had had many times before Jarin simply shook his head and returned his attention to the terminal. "How you survived your service is beyond me."
Tarkuss laughed, a harsh, mirthless sound. "'cause I got out before I wound up like you, you miserable bashak."
Despite himself, Jarin found a taut smile had worked its way onto his lips. "Never could resist the smell of money could you?"
Tarkuss' response was delayed as he helped himself to a swig of the cheap dextro-amino beer, the lukewarm liquid working moisture back into his throat. "Merc work pays a damn site better than the military ever did. Besides, everyone does their bit which means it makes for boring bar talk. Girls prefer to hear about the kind of adventures a merc in far-off worlds can get up to."
"Shame you never capitalized on that."
Unseen behind him, Tarkuss casually touched the tips of each forefinger together in an apex and offered the old turian insult to Jarin's back.

The second man didn't even need to turn to know the taunt was being offered. He knew Tarkuss well enough to be almost disappointed if he hadn't performed the gesture. His mind wandered briefly, thinking back on the near-decade the pair had spent working together. They may have had their share of clashes from time to time, but they had also been through too much together to let simple things like clashing personalities to get in the way. In some respects, for all his grumbling, Jarin would sooner have Tarkuss at his side than any woman. He lifted his finger to move the next screen along and then froze an inch over the holographic key. His eyes widened briefly, then narrowed as he squinted at the image. Mandibles at either side of his jaw twitched with scepticism. "Tarkuss."
"What the shek do you want now?"
"Come look at this."
Sighing loudly the mercenary slammed his half-drained can down on the countertop and moved to join him. "What?"
"Look up there, top left."
Tarkuss leant over the chair, the stale stench of his breath filling Jarin's lungs and making his stomach lurch in protest. "I don't see..." His voice trailed away and Jarin felt the subtle shifting of the torturous chair as his partner leaned in slightly closer. "Well," he remarked after a moment, "shek me."
"You see her too." It was more statement than question.
Tarkuss nodded. "Spirits you've got good eyes, how the hell'd you spot her?"
Jarin shifted in his seat, dislodging the other turian and bringing the terminal back under his control. "Luck." He admitted. "If she'd hadn't been just below the menu arrow I might never have noticed her."
Tarkuss perched himself on the armrest of the apartment's singular grotty couch, his eyes suddenly alight with enthusiasm. "Well? Run the images, she's got to be on some of the others in that area."
"That's what I'm doing," replied Jarin tersely, "looks like she doubled back to the concourse after we left. Question is," he mused to himself, "where'd she go from there?"

The minutes began to tick slowly by as Jarin steadily tracked the quarian's movements across the city's security camera network. Tarkuss began to pace, needing to rid himself of the nervous energy though as time passed his attention began to wane and his pacing eventually stopped against the box of lukewarm beer. He finished the remains of the first and was just about to pop the seal on a second, thoroughly undeserved self-congratulatory drink when Jarin spoke again.
"Dammit."
Tarkuss' spirits immediately sagged, along with the hand holding his can of beer. "Now what?"
"Looks like she got into a cab." Jarin replied, fiddling with the terminal to enhance the image.
"So?" Replied Tarkuss. "That'll make her easier to follow. Won't be the first time we've done it."
"If we can get access to the cab records." Jarin replied, his voice strained as his mind worked to come up with a solution.
Annoyingly, Tarkuss didn't even hesitate. "What's the cab company's keyword?"
Jarin flicked back a couple of images. "Radiance Tourism."
The turian scoffed. "With a name like that it's gotta be an asari business. Heh, that'll make it easy."
Jarin couldn't resist the opportunity to irk Tarkuss for a change. "With your track record maybe I should be making the call."
"Shek you." Replied Tarkuss, activating his Omni-Tool's communicator. The device pulsed brightly for a few seconds before a steady orange glow and a recognizably asari voice in Tarkuss' ear signified a stable connection.
"Good morning, Radiance Tourism, how can I help you?"
"Morning," said Tarkuss, his voice taking on a distinctively gruff tone, "look I've got somethin' I need to discuss, you got a supervisor I can talk ta?"
There was the briefest of pauses on the other end of the line before the asari spoke again, the polite routine replaced by cautious suspicion. "May I ask your name and what it's regarding sir?"
Tarkuss sighed heavily, dipping his head to pinch the bridge of his nose with his free hand for unnecessary emphasis. "Ah, it's too early in the morning for this crap."
"I'm sorry sir?"
The turian raised his head, making sure his slow intake of breath could be heard over the voice receptor. "Sorry sweetheart, been a long night. I'm Detective Costra with Illium Law Enforcement, I need to speak ta a supervisor about a possible suspect in a crime that took place last night."
"Oh I'm sorry, I didn't realise." Said the asari, her apology mixed with what Tarkuss guessed to be professionalism and sympathy. "Just bear with me a moment sir and I'll get my manager on the line."
"Thanks hon."

The line filled with the same repetitive, jaunty tune that Tarkuss had heard in an elevator not two days ago, though this time the music went unheeded. He made eye contact with Jarin for the first time since he'd initiated the conversation and offered a confident wink. "How's my 'been up all night, don't wanna be here' voice doing?"
Jarin, who had been listening silently over the Omni-Tool's inbuilt speakers, merely shook his head. "I just hope you know what you're doing."
Tarkuss scowled. "'Course I- Hello, yeah, Detective Costra here." The scowl fell from his face instantly, his features sloping as he got back into character.
This new, huskier voice sounded even more dubious than the first, her clipped tones a result of clear impatience. "You say you're a detective?"
"That's right," replied 'Costra', "ID number's J11-F54-O97 if you wanna check it up."
Jarin's eyes narrowed but Tarkuss waved his silent rebuke down. It was a gamble he knew, but he could hear the stress in the asari's voice and guessed that she just didn't have the time. He was proved correct when she offered no resistance. "I doubt that'll be necessary, we don't get many whack calls from people claiming to be cops. So, what do you want Mr...Costra, was it?"
"That's me, yeah. Look, I can tell you're busy so I'll keep this short. We had a power cut to a residential district late last night, out by the docklands in Nos Carsa. Normally it's not the kind of thing I'd get called ta but we've got some footage showing someone tamperin' with a power conduit just 'afore the lights went dark. We've been trackin' the suspect's movements and we think they got into one of your company's cabs about an hour after we lost the grid." Tarkuss had been pacing as he spoke and now came to a stop, leaning back against the wall. "I could do with finding out who was driving that cab and where he ended up dropping the suspect off, should save me a lot of hassle."

The asari had listened in silence, absorbing the information as Tarkuss detailed the incident for her. She paused for a moment after he'd finished and the turian could just make out her orders for someone to vacate their chair. "Right, just give me a minute to pull up last night's rosters. Do you know what time it was when your guy got into the cab?"
Tarkuss shot a pointed look at Jarin who quick spun in his chair, fingers working furiously to bring up the image timestamp. "Approximately 23:48." Tarkuss answered. "Look like she was picked up in an industrial area just across from the residential district, probably the dockyards themselves by the looks."
"She huh?" Said the asari, though it didn't sound like she was expecting a response and Tarkuss didn't offer her one. "I'm just going through the logs now...looks like I had two drivers in that area around that time." She muttered something under her breath that Tarkuss took to be an asari curse. "Jena! Drop what you're doing and pull up the passenger footage for cabs 23 & 65 for me, around the 23:50 bracket."
Tarkuss, who had pulled the receiver away from his ear slightly at the supervisor's shout, pulled it back again to catch the tail end of the asari's apology.
"-ry about that, you're going to have to bear with us for a minute detective. I've got no way of knowing who picked up the fare so we're having to use the interior cameras to identify who got inside. You say this suspect of yours was a woman?"
"Yeah," replied Tarkuss, "A quarian truth be told."
The asari made a derisive snort. "Ha! Well if that's the case who's really surprised?"
The turian's thin lips formed into a knowing smile. "I said the same ta one of the boys earlier, can't trust the suit-rats to sweep up the trash."
"Tell me about it," confided the supervisor, "one of the managers here made the mistake of setting one on a few years back. Less than a week later we found out someone had been skimming credits from the company accounts. Stopped happening the minute we fired him."
And there it was, the icebreaker that Tarkuss had been waiting for. With something common to discuss the supervisor would be freer with her words now, subconsciously happier to trust the detective. Still, he couldn't afford to let her fall back into her professional demeanour. "I could tell ya some stories about the ones I've arrested over the years..."
He heard the subtle creaking as the asari shifted in her seat. "Goddess willing we might be able to help you make another one tonight Mr. Costra. Jena! Where's my footage?"
Tarkuss heard the supervisor stand and remained silent, waiting patiently as she crossed the room and by the sounds of it, stopped before another terminal.
"Got you." She muttered triumphantly before raising her voice again. "We've found your suspect detective, looks like she got into Franco's cab and rode it all the way to the spaceport in Nos Loras, got dropped off pretty much on the hour. I can't tell you where she went from there but hopefully that's enough for you to work on."
"It sure is," 'Costra replied, "better than I'd hoped. You guys have been a big help sweetheart, I'll make sure ta tell the captain to send you somethin' nice."
"Anytime detective." Replied the asari, pride replacing the irritation in her tone. "We'll put the footage into storage for you if you want to send someone to collect it. Good luck catching her; she looks like a shifty one."
"We'll get her alright, don't you worry about that." Said Tarkuss, promptly severing the connection. With a relieved sigh he looked towards his partner who was already busy establishing a link with the spaceport's security hub.

"You get all that?"
"Enough." Replied Jarin. "Impressive performance, wasn't expecting that trick to work again."
Tarkuss chuckled knowingly. "It's not a hard sell; people will believe what they want to hear. Plus, you throw in a chance to make them feel like they assisted in solving a crime and most of 'em will be falling over themselves to help, even if it's just so they can brag to their friends."
"Very astute. Didn't think you had it in you."
"Yeah, yeah. How about you find our little bucket head instead of wasting time sniggering to yourself?"
"I'm already pulling up the holocam footage." Said Jarin.
"That again?" Tarkuss groaned. "There's got to be a faster way of doing things."
"Not unless you want to ride all the way to the spaceport yourself and try to bluff the officials there into thinking you're a detective, hot on the heels of his quarry without a single shred of ID to prove his story. Yes, I can see that working just fine."
"Wiseass."
"It shouldn't take as long," Jarin continued as though he hadn't heard him, "not now that we've got a timezone to work with."

Sure enough the turian techie had that familiar purple suit up on screen within a quarter of an hour and both men sat down to study the recordings. The image quality on the spaceport cams was better, making Jarin's task of tracking the quarian's movements somewhat easier. The pair watched in relative silence, broken only by the occasional chewing as Tarkuss worked his way through a turian hotcake. On-screen, the girl's wanderings struck Jarin as being hesitant, purposeful perhaps, but ultimately unsure. "She doesn't know where she's going." He realised.
"Course she shekking doesn't, she's only been on planet two minutes." Tarkuss mumbled through a mouthful of food. "She's running scared, ten to one she heads for the first flight off-world."
"No, she's smarter than that." Jarin leant forward and zoomed the camera as their quarry moved off into the distance, away from the busy public terminals. Though he tracked her course without uttering a word, Jarin's analytical mind was working overtime. Where are you going? He asked himself. Where would I be going in your shoes?It was when the girl moved into the parts of the spaceport that Jarin knew to be frequented by the owners of private and executive starcraft that it suddenly clicked.

"She's looking for a privateer, going to smuggle herself off planet."
"Privateers?" Tarkuss echoed. "How'd she know where the smugglers are?"
"They don't exactly hide themselves from potential customers." Jarin replied. "Maybe she got the cab driver talking or maybe she just used some intuition. Doesn't matter how, but if she managed to negotiate a way out of the system..."
"The privateers don't run a cheap business." Tarkuss observed.
"No, but they run a smooth one. If she's got the credits, chances are unless she picked herself a real piece of scum, they'll get her where she wants to go, quietly."
The second turian scowled. "This krit just gets better and better."
"Indeed." Said Jarin, forwarding the images once again.

Tarkuss clamped down on the urge to shudder at the traces of worry that had appeared in his partner's eyes. It wasn't often that Jarin became so concerned about a situation but when he did, it set alarm bells ringing for both of them. The pair continued to monitor the quarian's progress, neither needing to say anything as she cautiously worked her way further into the terminals rented by private corporations and frequented by their employees. Her first few inquiries appeared to lead her nowhere and Jarin could see through her body language that she was growing desperate by the time she eventually approached a nondescript turian. Standing with his back to the camera the turian appeared to be giving orders to a salarian and it was only when he turned at the quarian's approach that a rare curse spilled from Jarin's lips.

"What?" Demanded Tarkuss, immediately set on edge by his partner's uncharacteristic behaviour. "You recognize him?"
"Yeah, name's Tellix Nolas. He's a well known smuggler in all the right circles, though no one's ever been able to prove it. I've hired him once or twice; he's expensive but if you want something or someone moved without a word of it ever getting out, he's the man you see." Jarin's crest stiffened as he watched the two figures on his screen silently converse, trying to read into their gesticulation, hoping to get a feel for how the discussion was developing. To his annoyance pair drew their conversation to a close with scarcely a hint at its outcome, no nodding of heads, no handshake, nothing. It was only when the quarian moved away and the Omni-Tool on her forearm flared with a new data screen that Jarin spotted his chance. His hand shot out to pause the image just after she stepped off-screen, slowly backtracking frame by frame until the girl once again re-entered the image. Beside him, Tarkuss was for once silent, studying the screen intently. "Can you zoom in on her Omni-Tool?" He asked suddenly.
"In the middle of it." Jarin replied, encouraged that his partner had spotted the same clue. His dextrous fingers gently manipulated the controls, slowly bringing the holographic omni-screen into view. Each man fought off the urge to twist their heads as they attempted to decipher the mirrored quarian script that the girl was viewing. Tarkuss gave up almost immediately. "Spirits, I don't read suit-trash." He muttered and was about to pull away when a small diagram at the bottom left of the image caught his eye. Squinting to make out the overstretched and poorly recorded mix of outlines, Tarkuss eventually caught his partner's attention. "Hey Jarin, that look like a map to you?"
Following Tarkuss' gaze, Jarin studied the diagram for a moment before nodding slowly. "Think so, looks like a freighter dock if I had to guess. Which," he added as he pulled in results from his search on quarian lettering, "ties in with what I can see on her screen...Longreave Medical's private docking terminal."
"You think that's where she was headed?"
"Probably. The name seems familiar, I think Tellix used to work with them back when I knew him. Maybe still does. Man in his position can't afford to pass up on clients, even executive ones."

Working on the new lead the turian took control of the spaceport camera archive footage again, swiftly moving their point of view to Longreave's docks. Sure enough, after a tense half-hour of staring at the screen until their eyes ached with the strain, the two men finally caught a glimpse of their quarian entering the terminal. Slowing down the footage revealed that she had acquired an ID card from somewhere, the company's private hire guards offering no resistance as she presented it and walked inside. Jarin lifted his hand to move the cameras on but hesitated at the last moment. Tarkuss shot him a look. "You gonna wait around all day? We're almost due to report in and shek if I'm telling him to hold when he calls."

"I can't get in to their camera feed," said Jarin bluntly, "not without breaching Longreave's firewalls and VI safeguards. That's a lot more dangerous than what we're doing now."
"Do you think I care?" Hissed Tarkuss. "We don't have time anymore!"
His fellow turian held up a hand, cutting him off before his worried rant truly began. "We don't have to track her, we track Tellix. If Tellix has sent her in there already, he's going to be moving soon and whether he's smuggling her or not, he's still got to get clearance from the control tower before he can initiate take-off. That means there's going to be a record of him leaving."
"So?"
"So," replied Jarin patiently, "Illium's a stringent world. If there's a record of him leaving, there's a record of where he was going to; especially if he's trading for a corporation now."
Tarkuss crossed his arms, standing behind his partner with an expression that said he still wasn't quite ready to believe. "What if this Tellix makes a stop, drops her off somewhere?"
"He's on corporation time, they run themselves to the minute when shifting cargo. He can't afford to be late turning up, makes records of his flight stand out more if anyone ever asks questions. Nolas is too smart for that."

Ditching the camera screens and working his way into the spaceport's daunting flight log, Jarin quickly initiated a search for starships departing from Longreave's terminal within a few hours of the quarian's arrival. Luckily there were few flights scheduled for that day and only one was captained by a turian that Jarin instantly recognized as Tellix, despite the man's unfamiliar alias. "And there we go. Our girl's on her way to the Citadel."
"The Citadel?" Tarkuss dropped his hands to his hips, momentarily confused. "Why the shek is she heading there?"
Jarin shrugged. "She's running scared, probabl-"
He was cut off mid-sentence as the terminal screen suddenly lit up with notification of an incoming, encrypted call. Both turians stared at it in silence, understanding of what it meant dawning as the steady beeping alert echoed softly throughout the small apartment. Jarin gave a questioning look to Tarkuss who, after drawing in a slow, deep breath, nodded. Determined not to show any trace of the sudden unease that had formed in his gut, Jarin reached out and established the connection. He sat rigidly in his chair as the long-distance extranet link synched the two terminals up whilst behind him, Tarkuss stood parade ground still despite the fact that neither man could be seen by their employer. With a chime the link was finally decrypted and established and Jarin found himself holding his breath until the being at the other end of the line eventually spoke.

"Do you have her?"
Jarin's throat constricted tightly at the familiar distorted resonance that accompanied the question, the interference somehow failing to mask the speaker's malevolence. "No."
"That is...disappointing." Said the voice, the aggrieved tone so authentic that Jarin could almost have believed the emotion was genuine. The next words seized his heart in an icy fist. "Goodbye Jarin. Tarkuss."
"Wait!"
The voice said nothing, but to Jarin's relief, the connection wasn't severed. Knowing he had but seconds, the turian pushed ahead.
"We know where she's going. The Citadel, on a Longreave Medical freighter captained by a turian named Tellix Nolas. He's using the alias Jultan Sordis."
The second of silence was the longest in either turian's life. "You are certain?"
The mercenary swallowed hard. "I'd stake my life on it."
He wasn't sure if it was the distortion or his own imaginings, but Jarin could have sworn he'd heard a faint chuckle. "You already have." Immediately, the terminal's callbox winked out.

For a long moment neither man said anything, then Jarin broke the spell by running his hand atop his fringe and muttering something under his breath. Tarkuss abandoned his rigid pose though the tension didn't leave his body as he resumed pacing for the second time that night. "What the shek was that Jarin? Huh? Are we clear? He hung up on us, what does that mean?"
His companion glared, patience wearing dangerously thin. "Shut up and sit down. You're giving me a migraine."
"Spirits take your migraine!" Tarkuss nearly shouted. "I want to know if I can expect to live out the day!"
"He's not going to kill us," replied Jarin wearily, "not as long as the quarian is on that freighter. Not as long as she arrives on the Citadel."
"But we didn't get her!" Tarkuss pointed out. "We failed our mission!"
"Maybe we did and maybe we didn't. What matters is that we told him where she is and where she's heading. We both know he's going to have agents on the Citadel waiting long before she gets there. They'll take the girl out and the boss will let us go on breathing; he doesn't kill for the sake of it, not while there's a use for us."
Tarkuss halted, back to Jarin. The tips of his crest were the only indication that he had turned his head to speak. "You're sure about that?" He asked, his voice quieter now though no less uncertain.
"I wouldn't be sitting here if I wasn't."
Slowly, Tarkuss heaved a sigh, then abruptly moved for the kitchen. "Spirits, I need a shekking drink. Why the hell did I buy the weak krit?"
"There's a bottle of whiskey in the cupboard." Jarin revealed, stepping away from his terminal for the first time in what felt like an age. He had to restrain himself from gasping in relief as his body was finally released from the painful grip of the arduous chair.
Tarkuss rummaged through the grotty pre-fab doors with abandon, cackling in spite of himself when his talons finally wrapped themselves around the neck of a thick glass bottle. "Expensive stuff," he whistled, taking in a deep whiff of the strong spirits within, "no wonder you were hiding it from me."
Jarin joined his partner, eyeing the heady spirit with an appreciation he hadn't anticipated. "Figured we're due a celebration."
Tarkuss snorted, almost spilling precious drops from the bottle's neck. "We haven't got payment for the job yet."
"And we'll probably never see it." Muttered Jarin. "We just handed those guys on the Citadel a nice wage packet."
Tarkuss' head drooped with bitter realisation. "Dammit. That's a lotta creds we're going to be missing out on."
Jarin nodded, feeling the bitter aftertaste of defeat himself.
"Makes you wonder exactly what's on that data core though." Tarkuss mused quietly.
Jarin turned, affixing his partner with a long, hard stare before responding. "It's questions like that you never ask Tarkuss."
"Yeah, forget I said it." The younger turian finished pouring out the measures, placing the heavy bottle on the cluttered countertop and holding one out to his long-time partner. "Well," he announced with false enthusiasm, "it might have all gone to krit Jarin, but here's to being alive eh?"
The pair of glasses clinked softly.
"To being alive."