Constant low pulsing electronic music? Migraine inducing red lighting everywhere? The soft aroma of garbage and filth mixed with rusting metal? The air as stale and dry as the ruins of London?
It was good to be back on Omega.
Looking over my shoulder at Saren, cutting past the line to get into the afterlife behind me, my eyes momentarily met with the one human in the line. Our eyes narrowed at one another, and instinctively I reached for the Turian Greatsword Saren had loaned to me till I could get a design I liked off the extranet and printed out. She reached for her own blade, a single-bladed sabre by her side. Fast and quick, good for decapitations, but lacking in range and weight. A sword for self-defence or assassination, not for a drag-out fight. She wouldn't kill me here. I pulled my hand away from my sword's grip on my back, nodded, pulled the collar up on my tattered peacoat and turned away.
While Saren got to talk to the movers of shakers of Omega, who insisted on doing meetings in a nightclub of all places, I made my way into the lower levels of the worst place to live in the Terminus. I had contacts in the trade, whispers on the darknet. Eclipse had been the last of the Terminus powers to do business with the Collectors, at least according to rumours. Three months ago, before the attacks took place. What they sold and what they got in exchange, nobody knew. But their search for a single biotic Quarian had not been subtle. Eclipse was the closest to a professional military you'd see in a PMC. But they had scoured the Terminus and its fringe for such a prize like a Varren on a thresher's corpse. And apparently, they had found such a prize.
I hadn't been lying when I said I had never actually taken money from the slave trade, and it was a horrible thing, but so were a lot of things in this galaxy. And I did know the going rates for certain... Products.
Quarians were well-liked for indentured servants, less so for slaves. Usually being good engineers, companies loved to take them on, either as computer programmers or shipbuilding corps as engineers. They weren't suited for manual labour, like Turians or Batarians, nor as slave soldiers like us humans or Krogans. They weren't usually used for sexual slavery either, though it did happen. Too valuable to waste on that.
I'd never even heard of a biotic Quarian. Given their strict quarantined lifestyle, getting exposed in-utero to Eezo was probably pretty difficult. Perhaps they had developed something similar to the Krogan Biotic node surgeries, something that a race as delicate as they could survive. If they had, they were sitting on a goldmine. Currently, only Humans and Krogans could survive such a procedure, both able to die on the operating table and get back up if required- Krogans, usually only the once, though.
My contact was a friend from my days in the Legion. A Salarian named Previcta Urlas. Back when I knew him, he was barely a man, fresh out of Salarian high school at age ten, eager to make his way in the universe. Ten years was a blink for me, but for him, it was nearly a quarter of his life.
I ducked into a little a Burgat place, down in the Kintho neighbourhood. The bright neon signs written in some Batarian script reminded me, for a moment, of a place I probably visited on earth nearly a century before. Shanghai, I think the place was once called. It had been a long time.
The Salarian was easily noticeable, being the only one of the place's six customers dressed in some sort of body armour. Which, actually, was surprisingly low for Omega. I walked over towards the booth opposite the Salarian and got a good look at him.
The years had not been kind to the bipedal amphibian frog. Scars crossed his face like a child... Like an idiot trying to play sudoku. One of his eyes had clearly been replaced with a synthetic replacement, being a literal pale imitation of the real thing, what with it being quite a few shades whiter than his other eye. He had put on muscle, perhaps one thing to be proud of; it was pretty difficult for the hyperactive frogs to get swole.
"You haven't aged a day," He said, a hint of jealously in those words.
I drew the sword off my back, placed it on the far end of the booth seat, and sat down.
"Funny," I said drolly. "You look like shit."
Previcta glared, but he wasn't dumb enough to start a fight with me. Not for that, at least. "Nine years, and out of the blue, you call me up, say you need information?"
"I figured you owed me. Most of Taetrus do," I replied.
"Owe you, hmm? I suppose that's one way of looking at me having to scrape bits of your ribs and skull out of my armour after every deployment," Said the Salarian, wiping down his perfectly clean Eclipse armour for effect.
"Yes. Because you know perfectly well that without me, it would've been pretty difficult to wipe your own skull and ribs out of your armour," I shot back. I grinned childishly. "And, well, because I asked very nicely. I barely even swore!"
Previcta laughed.
"I suppose that's right. You eat Burgat?" He asked.
I shook my head.
"Batarian food doesn't agree with me. One, I swear this was an Asari restaurant last time I was here. Little four-eyed fucks are taking over the galaxy," I grumbled.
Previcta nodded non-committedly, too busy using his Omni-tool to order to pay attention to the nearly bicentennial man whine about things changing with the times. "So, what's with the social call? Heard from Voranus Taetrus already got you a cushy Colony protection job?"
I smiled.
"You guys still keep in touch? That's cute. What does he think of the... Y'know."
I gestured to his uniform, the yellow and white armour.
Previcta rolled his eyes.
"He'll never approve. Always said I've gone corporate. I told him, unlike you, I'm not content to wait forty years to make a barely living wage just because it lets me pretend to be some kind of anti-conformist. If I want any chance of a breeding contract, I've got to make actual money. Eclipse also actually promoted me beyond just making me carry your spare swords."
"So, what is your rank now?" I asked.
He looked up from his Omni-tool, studying my face for a few moments.
"You know perfectly well what it is. We wouldn't be having this discussion if I was just some two-bit squad leader."
I held back my wince.
"Oh c'mon. I know you weren't exactly running things on Omega for us, but..."
"Which I am now, for the Eclipse. They aren't big here, not like the Blood Pack, but it's important," He said.
I smiled, then reached into my jacket and pulled out an old voice recorder, placing it on the table.
"Glad to get that on recording. This will be important later. It's what a human writer called 'foreshadowing' or 'a Chekov's gun'," I explained.
Previcta looked around, utterly confused.
"What are you talking about? Sure, it's not exactly on the extranet, but it's not... You knew already I run things on Omega for them?"
"Right. So, let's talk about what the Eclipse has been doing. Or rather, what they did... Three months ago?" I asked.
Previcta's already large eyes widened in shock. Thinking quickly, he drew his pistol while I lazily reached for my sword and swung it, so the tip was dancing against his throat. The conversation in the other booths died away, leaving only soft Batarian music and the sound of the grill burning in the background.
"You know perfectly well that even if you hit me in the head, I will still get up and kill you," I warned, glancing down at the predator pistol currently shaking in his grip. "And I might, might just have enough sense before I die to ram this sword through your throat. So, let's not put both of us through that, shall we?"
Slowly, the Salarian nodded. He placed the pistol on the table, then brought his hands back up, raising them in surrender. I picked up the pistol with my left hand, then placed the sword in my right back down on the seat beside me.
"Good. So, guess you know what I'm talking about?" I asked.
"Why in the hell do you want to know about that?" Previcta asked. "That kind of thing is well above your paygrade. Damn it; it should be well above mine," The Salarian worriedly explained.
"Usually, it would be. But I'm on what we humans call 'Community Service'. I'm working with a council Spectre, and he'd really like to know about this sort of thing," I sort of explained.
I wasn't sure it would've been possible, but somehow the Salarian's eyes got even bigger after hearing that, whatever counted as a brow on the poor guy nearly reaching his horns. "Council... Oh no. That's why you wanted the recording..."
I raised my hands, trying to calm him down.
"He's not after you. As you said, what we're dealing is well above our pay grades, which means you're well below his pay grade. Saren just wants to know about your erstwhile business partners."
"SAREN!?" The Salarian loudly exclaimed, once again silencing the diner. I looked around sheepishly and silently apologised for the Salarian's outburst, annoyed that I was probably going to have to tip now, even though I hadn't ordered anything. "I've heard the stories. Whatever you want, just don't bring me to him."
Puzzled, I turned back to him.
"He seemed pretty typical Turian to me," I said. "Maybe smarter than the average one, but hey, miracles happen."
Previcta audibly gulped.
"Saren is the worst of the worst. The most ruthless attack dog the Council has. If they want a problem talked at, they'll send in Jondam Bau. If they want something found, they'll send in Nilhus Kirik. If they want intel, they'll send in Tela Vasir. But if they want something dealt with, something destroyed with no witnesses left; they'll send in Saren," The Salarian hurriedly explained. "There are Thresher Maws less destructive than Saren Arterius. Hell, he's probably personally killed more people than his brother, the Turian General, has even ordered killed."
I tapped my fingers on the booth table, looking around at the other patrons as they tried not to watch our conversation. "Well, then you better help me. Before I ask him to come down and do this for me."
The Salarian nodded.
"Alright. Since you asked, you already know. Three months ago, I facilitated an exchange between a Collector envoy and us. I found the requested item and exchanged it," Previcta explained.
"What did you get in return for the Quarian Biotic?" I asked, stressing those last few words.
To his credit, Previcta did wince upon being reminded of that but managed to steam ahead. "The Quarian Biotic wasn't the only thing we handed over. They also asked to have a private meeting with one of my guards. Just a minute, they said. He came back, said they just stared at him for a few seconds, then sent him back. He was a good kid, knew when not to speak."
"You physically met with them?" I asked incredulously.
"Yes. On an old helium-3 mining facility, abandoned for years, couple systems over from here. In return for... What we sold them, we got the code for a little computer bug that my bosses have been using to spy on the Shadow Broker's information network entirely undetected. Even with his legendary Sigint and Sigsec, he can't find the thing," Previcta explained.
"You sold someone to bug someone? I mean, I appreciate the insect pun and all, but... That's fucking..."
"I didn't. My bosses ordered the exchange," He insisted.
"Just following orders, how very original," I mumbled, running a hand through my hair. I needed a haircut; it was getting down to my shoulders at this point. I also needed a decent shower. "Alright. So, you physically met with the Collectors? Did you see their ships? Can you draw one of them?" I asked.
"I saw their ship. Huge thing, dreadnought sized- Looked kind of like coral growing out of metal. And they looked like... Bipedal Paolarisons."
"Paolarisons?" I asked.
"Uh, small flying things with hard carapaces. But not a Krogan egg being thrown into a skillet," Previcta explained.
Momentarily, I smiled. It confirmed I was right. Those things I had fought probably were Collectors, or at least were working for them. But that didn't exactly settle my stomach. Something else did bother me, though.
"You said 'he used to be a good kid'? Something happened to this boy you sent to have a private word with the Collectors?" I asked.
Previcta nodded mournfully.
"Died on the station, just a week or so later. They died of that plague going on in the Kelentu District. Shame, really. Finding good, quiet company in this line of work is difficult. Either they're loud, depressed, or psychopaths," Previcta pointedly looked up at me. "Or all three."
"Hilarious," I said drolly. My fingers tapped the table again.
After a few seconds of quiet contemplation, the Salarian interrupted me.
"You're... You're not going to tell Saren about me, are you?" He worriedly asked.
I shook my head.
"All I told him about this was that I had a contact I could ply for information and that I heard some rumours last time I was in town. He might put two and two together, but he's also got other things on his mind," I admitted. Picking up the voice recorder and placing it into my jacket, I leaned back in the booth. "How do you get in contact with the Collectors?"
Previcta shrugged.
"They contact my bosses, how, I have no idea. It's not exactly a regular thing. And they don't just ask us. Pretty much any Terminus power might get a message out of the blue, offering to trade. Most accept if they can find what they want. Better you get your hands on some of that tech than any of your enemies," He replied.
My lip twitched in irritation. I wasn't going to get any more useful information out of him.
"Alright. Thank you, Previcta. Sorry about..."
I glanced over at the turian greatsword. His eyes followed my own.
"I think we're even, then. Don't message me at any point in the next twenty years."
Wryly, I smiled.
"Won't be difficult."
Getting into a quarantine zone for some hyper-contagious lethal virus should've been difficult, but apparently, humans were exempt from the lockdown order. The only people able to come and go as they pleased from the Kelenthu district, given they were immune to every virus ever encountered by any sapient species.
Man, sometimes being a human is great.
The virus wasn't the only lethal thing in the district, though. Getting past the quarantine checkpoints, their trigger-happy guards armed with flamethrowers was worrying but doable. But the actual residents, the people stuck inside a decaying part of the station for three months, forced to scavenge from the dead to survive, each time risking becoming infected; that was the real danger. And while I could get up, again and again, it still wasn't going to be a pleasant experience.
The final checkpoint that Aria's people had set up was by far the heaviest armed. Three auto-turrets pointed squarely at down the only "street" leading to the exit, four combat mechs and six actual soldiers, two armed with flamethrowers, all dressed in heavy environment suits.
"Damn scavs," One of the mercs mumbled as I walked past them. "Can't they wait another week?"
One of the soldiers, an Asari, held up her arm, blocking my path. The Mechs, on auto-pilot, raised their shotguns squarely at my head.
"What on Thessia are you doing here?" She asked, tilting her head slightly while she glared at me through the red visor.
"Looking for someone," I explained.
"Nearly everybody's dead here, human. Only the Vorcha and those lucky few with the Salarian are left. Rest are dead or dying," She said. "You'd better go back."
"I'm human. I don't mind risking infection," I said.
"That ain't the problem, human. Aria said nobody is getting out of the district until we can confirm the virus has run its course. That includes humans. Your clothes might carry traces of the infection," She said.
"I'll burn it on the way out if that's what's needed. But I'm going in," I explained. Lazily, I turned to look at one of the three shotguns aimed at my head, rolling my neck to watch the mech drone unerringly keep the barrel aimed squarely at my brain.
"Aria was clear. We'll burn you if you try to get out," The Asari warned.
"Won't be the first time," I mumbled. I shook my head. "Fine. When you do, please shoot me in the head first. Burning to death is a painful way to go out."
The Asari nodded, clicking her fingers. The Mechs lowered their shotguns, they and the other environment suit-wearing guards moved aside, letting me pass. "Stay out of the air ducts. That's wild Vorcha territory. Mordin's clinic is a safe place, so long as you aren't Blood Pack. They'll probably shake you down for whatever you got, then throw you into a pit to die."
I shrugged, unsheathing the greatsword off my back.
"They'll have to wait a while."
And with that, I marched off into the Kelentu district, hoping to find out some shred of a link between the dead Eclipse Merc, this plague, and the Collectors.
