|17|
Hunting for a missing woman's kind of a tough task when the forest you're looking in happens to be a galaxy. The most recent barge he'd accepted a ride with was full of immigrants heading to various stations throughout Sol cluster, but the company issuing the ride was full of vorcha and a few unpleasant krogans. They weren't the nicest team to have to work with, but Casnar found they hated Alliance and could point him in the right direction for Grim.
"Garm's in the mess—you were wanting to talk with him, now's good 'cause he's not hungry…Just don't step on his varren's tail and you'll keep from being bled."
Traveling passed the feet laying out along the floor, passengers only finding sitting space at the corners of walls in red-light hallways on the Nebulant, Casnar went to his expected meeting with the vorcha and adjusted his guns—likely they would want him to disarm in front of the bodyguards before giving him any audience with the barge's captain. Verne had seen him off Earth with an assortment of useful equipment—most would be taken from him, Verne assured Casnar as his nephew Tripto prepared a space flight from his courier in Denver, but the more he had to offer those who wanted his gear, the less likely they would get close to wanting his hide. Drell venom could make people high—and so it was considered a valuable commodity if he didn't offer something better.
Garm was a sight—one he'd rather not spend too much time looking at….After a meal, vorcha were even more gruesome as they didn't care about cleaning themselves…Reapers had little to think of the species back during the Great War, if they even considered them at all.
He'd already been stripped of his guns, but kept on his person and among the fold of a pocket, a small flash grenade that could cause some pain in tight quarters….Could never be too careful out in space with a crew of cannibalizers and former pirates. "What do Casnar want," Garm's fangs slid between each other, tongue working flesh out from between the spikes, "…Garm busy, make quick quick."
"It's been two stops and I'm still waiting for the announcement that Gavtega Station is next…Three stations ago now," Casnar glanced at the striped varren eating something—or formerly someone by the look of the bone, on the floor, "…I was promised Gavtega was going to be within the first two stations at least when I signed onto this barge."
"Had to reroute," Garm managed the word with some succinct pronunciation, though it appeared to take an effort for him, "…Return to pickup passenger from Mon."
"I expect to reach the Gavtega in at least one more stop," he looked at the bodyguards, two krogans sitting in chairs beside the cafeteria table, "…I've paid a lot for this trip and I'm spending too much time and patience waiting for you to get this barge back to its itinerary."
Casnar turned his face from the splatter of leftovers suddenly launched at him—Garm went into a tirade, "…You no tell Garm what do and when! Stupid yellow drell scum boss Garm round on Garm's ship—spray you with gun! Cut you, feed you to pet! Give you to maker! Makem you in a bottle and sell!" There was a silence from Casnar as Garm ranted on, Casnar wiping his patak clear of the leftovers flung at him. The varren at the floor to Garm's left started to snarl. Withdrawing his arm from behind him, Casnar flung a knife into the table over Garm's hand. The blade handle projected towards Casnar from between the severed claws—Garm looked from his hand pinned to the plastic and up at Casnar, the krogans still as the varren was facing them, fangs bared and open with threat…
"You will take this barge directly to Gavtega, or I will cut that ugly mug off your face with my knife and feed you to the varren…" With a vibration from his tebris along his jaw and throat, Casnar stepped forward and tore the knife from the table, and as he left, the varren followed after.
