The mercenary was at a complete loss. Something wasn't right. She couldn't stop thinking about Nihlus' words: "I thought you'd be happy to see an old acquaintance of yours."
It was not the first time she suspected that she was being manipulated by Kryik. He was always keeping tabs on her. Well, she was not stupid enough not to notice that! Fucking Spectre! She should have broken his mandible, at least, so he wouldn't play God! But the Turians believe in... spirits. Oh, she'd gotten so sick of the constant exclamations "Spirits" a few years back...
What was the Spectre up to? Or maybe it was not just about her, but also about her old acquaintance, who was supposed to be a "tidbit" for her after three years of "living hand to mouth".
Or was it just about her and this unexpected generosity was meant to earn her absolute loyalty? Was it so obvious that now, when she was so close to her goal, she would want to have someone she could trust with her life?
To trust with her life... It seemed Nihlus had miscalculated. Her old acquaintance had pushed her away... The woman even laughed, but then she felt frustrated – it might have been better if they'd never met again than what had happened...
However, she had to get it all out of her head and focus on the main thing - which she had been craving for almost ten years. Will would surely have been disappointed with this kind of procrastination...
The Turian had barely held back from following the mercenary when she decided to leave the shopping district. But it was best for both of them, so he'd simply watched her go without taking his eyes off her until the woman had disappeared from view after turning the corner.
He'd spent two days in torment and reflection after that memorable meeting. How could she have become one of those she hated?
Well, what was so unusual about it? In the valley she had rushed to hug that bounty hunter who had also left the Alliance forces in his time – Massani – he'd had a blue sun tattoo on his neck... And the hatred the Turian had seen in her green eyes when she mentioned Santiago. They seemed to have very strong ties...
The Turian knew he wouldn't rest until he found out something. Unfortunately, this kind of information had to be sought from unofficial sources...
The officer hadn't been to this area of the Citadel for about eight years. Even before the war, having worked in C-sec for a year, during another investigation he'd been accidentally (at least he'd thought so back then) involved in one very unpleasant adventure. Admittedly, he'd been unlucky all his life, getting into dangerous situations, but maybe it was just his strong sense of justice.
The Salarian looked around and squeezed the container handle even harder. A couple of Asari passed by, whispering about something.
Usually there weren't a lot of people in the alley - perfect for a secret meeting with a new customer. Dr. Saleon wasn't a fool and would never take the risk of delivering the "goods" in person, but his unenviable position was to blame for this. He was standing here now, nervously shifting his weight from one foot to the other.
A few days earlier, his employee had reported that the laboratory had been visited by the S-Cec officers. Worse, during the interrogation one of the employees had started to bleed... The whole truth had come out because of this unfortunate incident, and now the secret and profitable business was destroyed. It was good that he'd found the client - being wanted by the local authorities, Dr. Saleon needed his assistance with a discreet disappearance from the Citadel in exchange for a heart for the client's sister in urgent need of transplantation.
The Turian was certainly not poor, because he'd promised a solid monetary reward, in addition to helping him leave the station secretly.
The Salarian was already dreaming of opening a new lab somewhere else, when...
"Doctor?" the voice behind him said. Saleon flinched and turned around.
"Yes... I am... And you are..?" He leaned down to put the container on the ground, and when he straightened again, the muzzle of the gun was pointed at his face.
The sound of the shot rang out in the deserted alley. A very young Turian with the C-sec insignia on his armor, who was hiding behind the fence, only managed to blink, surprised, when the butcher doctor, whom he'd suspected to be a wrong-doer and tracked for several months, and now had trapped, fell to the ground, dead. A second Turian with white colonial markings on his face, standing one meter from the corpse, turned towards the fence, as if he knew for sure that the young officer was hiding there.
"Officer Vakarian?"He called quietly. "I'd like to talk to you."
However, it was only now that, after so much time, after what felt like many lifetimes, having grown up, the Turian began to understand he had not just happened to stand in the path of the Spectre. And yet here he was again, at the same door, and, to his surprise, the access code had not changed.
Nihlus stood with his back to the entrance, seemingly admiring the majestic view from one of the huge windows of the residence in the Presidium Ring, the view that once had captivated the officer, but now rather annoyed him. It was no secret that only members of the galactic elite could afford apartments in this area of the Citadel. Last time he'd been here, visiting the area for the first time, the officer had wondered if the Spectres belonged to the elite...
"You've become careless, Nihlus, even the access code is the same..."
"I've been waiting for you," Kryik said without turning around.
"What?"
"If it would have happened a few years ago, you'd have come straight to me without delay. It seems the war taught you to be patient and cautious," Kryik said in a slightly cocky tone.
The officer laughed.
"That's what my father says."
"Well, unlike him, I'm rather upset by it." The Spectre finally turned to face his guest. "I'm starting to think that maybe this wasn't such a good idea. I need people who can't live without risk."
"Check my track record, there are a lot of mentions of risky situations there."
"I didn't mean... Well, you used to be an up-and-comer, and now it seems you have taken root, settled down."
"What do you want, Nihlus?"
"Ask the question you're so anxious about first. Isn't that what you're here for? Although I can answer it anyway. Yes, that little surprise was no accident. I thought I'd check what you're capable of, shake you up a bit, if you like. Any other officer in your position would have acted differently. And the report would have looked very different." Kryik activated his omnitool and read: "'No objects that matched the description were detected in the sector.' It seems to be called abuse of authority..."
"Are you going to blackmail me with this?" Looking bored, the officer leaned against the doorjamb and crossed his arms over his chest. "But you made it happen. And you knew what I would do."
Nihlus kept quiet, smiling mysteriously, then went to the round table in the middle of the room, took a datapad and threw it to the officer. He caught it easily and started reading.
"I wonder what you'll do now," Kryik said a few minutes later. "I've already notified Pallin. You'll be able to keep your warm hidey-hole at government expense and return to your service, when you're done, if you like."
Behind the passenger liner window, the stars mysteriously flickered. Some of the first class seats near the wall were separated from the rest of the cabin by thin, semi-transparent partitions that formed a kind of separate cabin, giving the illusion of privacy. The glass partitions could be darkened, if desired, but she didn't - she liked to periodically watch a beautiful Asari with a food and drink cart slowly and smoothly move between rows of comfortable soft seats.
The Asari's facial expression did not become less friendly even for a second, regardless of who the passengers with whom she had to talk were. Similarly, the blue-skinned beauty smiled when she locked eyes with the mercenary, who shook her head as a sign that she wanted nothing.
The woman thought that it didn't matter that all representatives of the galactic community still pulled a face at the sight of humans, service workers would always be far from xenophobic.
The client's ability to pay compensated for such a flaw as belonging to the human race, wiping the look of disgust and suspicion off the faces of aliens, which, however, did not reflect their true attitude.
Having these unfunny thoughts, the mercenary turned on her omnitool and blacked out the glass. At once it became cozier... Not that she ever cared about other people's attitudes towards her or their opinions... and, as it turned out, she couldn't care less about the race of an individual...
Besides, she had nothing to worry about on board this liner, belonging to a private space transport company. A sufficient amount of credits and effective cooperation with the owner (perhaps, also a secret member of the gang the woman herself now belonged to) solved all problems...
She sighed heavily and started looking at the stars again. The fingers of her right hand covered the tattoo on her left wrist, and then suddenly slid up her left arm to her chest shield. She had another memorable mark on her left shoulder – the gunshot scar… Then the woman abruptly pulled her fingers away as if it burned her through her armour and undersuit. Having stretched her legs out, she made herself comfortable - one should enjoy comfort as long as possible...